


King and Lionheart

by matanee



Series: This Is Why We Breathe For [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Pining, Reunions, Road Trips, Smut, also so many original characters that it hurts my soul, because he deserves sunshine and rainbows, but he has to suffer first, i guarantee happy ending, i love elves too much to not write this, i will give thranduil the happy ending he deserves, just really don't give up on hope, trust me guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:57:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 124,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matanee/pseuds/matanee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because everyone has a story of why they are the way they are.</p><p>After the long exile on the Isle of Balar, Thranduil and many others return to start a new life. He dwells in Lindon as prince of the building Woodland Realm, and that is where his life takes a whole new turn once an enigmatic stranger appears in his life. This is the story of a reckless, wild and young Thranduil who learns the lessons of life on the hard way before becoming king.</p><p>  <i>He knew it wouldn't end well. But he let himself sink anyway.</i></p><p>The events of <i>"Don't Go Where I Can't Follow"</i> might be mentioned at places. However, the fic mostly takes place in the Second Age, so reading that work is not necessary (but highly recommended).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When Destinies Collide

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to Tolkien Gateway and LOTR Wiki for the help on the research for this fanfiction. Also thanks to Tolkien for writing the amazing Silmarillion and giving me inspiration in writing this (and helping me with his notes and books). I would love to thank Ivana once more for reading it once I finish a chapter, without her help I would be lost. Also, I love you for your headcanons girl. You are amazing.
> 
> English is not my native language, since I am Hungarian. Please forgive me for any mistakes in grammar or style, I am still trying to learn how to write properly. Also, I have never written smut in English before, so this is going to be my first try. I hope it won't scare you away, I am trying really hard. (◕‿-)
> 
> Enjoy, guys!

_It is said that some lives are linked across time, connected by an ancient calling that echoes through the ages._

****

**_Destiny._ **

 

"Are you feeling well, father?"

Thranduil raised his head, blinking as if he was waken from a slumber. His hands rested on the table and he shortly lost connection with reality while he was staring at them. Long, delicate fingers, not changing the slightest bit for over three thousand years now. He wondered whether immortality was a curse or a blessing, but he could not find his answers. Legolas spoke, and Thranduil looked at this son's concerned face. He was young, his expression absolutely unusual compared to his lively composure.

The Elvenking cleared his throat shortly, nodding.

"Are you ready for the ride?"

He rose from his table, walking around it to approach the prince. His steps were light and soundless, his body tall and lithe as always. Entwining his fingers in front of his snow white robe, he stopped in front of Legolas and looked down at him.

"I do think so," Legolas answered after a moment of silence. He was trying to solve his father's unreadable expression, to find what burdened him so, but he gave up eventually. Thranduil was not too easy to understand sometimes. "Are you sure you do not wish to come?"

Thranduil smiled, a gesture all but invisible for most of the elves, men and dwarves alike.

"Thorin Oakenshield's coronation ceremony is an event where you can represent Mirkwood without me," he turned around, stepping ahead aimlessly. He soon reached his table again, running his fingers on the wooden edges absentmindedly. "You are bonded there, after all."

"Maybe you would enjoy some time spent in Erebor." Thranduil could hear Legolas stepping closer vaguely, not being quite sure whether it was advisable to do so or not. Thranduil could be quite unpredictable sometimes, and Legolas didn't wish to intrude his private sphere. He seemed to act unwontedly lately, missing the merrymaking and the dinners of his people on the evenings, and Legolas would have loved to know the reason why. "Far from elves, far from your Halls. It can be overwhelming sometimes, I do believe that. You might-"

"I am fine, Legolas," Thranduil cut his son off, still showing his back to him while speaking. His voice wasn't angered or sharp; it was a simple statement, but it immediately silenced the younger elf. "I do not wish to enjoy the company of the dwarves at the moment. Actually, I do not wish to enjoy anyone's company nowadays. I prefer some peace and solitude over a noisy feast with the sons of Durin."

Legolas stayed silent, listening eagerly with lips pressed in resignation. He didn't like the way his father talked, but he knew he had very little to say in the matter. If Thranduil decided to stay, he would stay then, no matter how hard Legolas would beg him.

"Forgive me, father, for pressing the matter," Legolas said silently, bowing his head ever so slightly. Thranduil turned to look at him, eyeing the prince with his deep blue gaze without the younger one being aware of it. "I respect your choice and I will represent Mirkwood in your name."

For a moment, Thranduil felt nostalgia washing over him while he took in the sight of his only son. He remembered when he was only an elfling, small against his father's chest whenever Thranduil chose to hold him. He called him 'ada', and he was 'iôn nín'. Long gone those days were, yet, the memories were fresh as if all had happened only a day ago. The blue eyes, the long, golden locks were the same, and Thranduil sighed silently. He saw familiar lines on that face, painfully perfect features that he inherited from his mother, the most beautiful woman Middle-Earth had ever seen. Legolas was born in the midst of a war, and his mother insisted on naming him after the woods he will once call his home. So he was named green leaf, the only person reminding Thranduil that Mirkwood was once Greenwood, untouched by evil and free of the lurking shadows.

He loved and cherished his son more than anything else in his life. But Legolas never called him 'ada' anymore, and Thranduil hadn't said the words 'iôn nín' for centuries now. And he had no one else to blame but himself.

"Just be careful on your way and enjoy your time with Kíli," Thranduil said after a moment of thinking, then locked eyes with his son. "Also, give my greetings to the halfling."

"I will," Legolas nodded, something shining in his eyes while he spoke. The mere mention of Kíli's name brought the youth forth on his face, and Thranduil knew it was well this way. No one knew it better than him what love was capable of.

For a short moment he felt like an ice cold hand was holding his heart in its grip, squeezing it until it ceased to beat anymore, then released the hold and let it fall. It was only a second, though, and he was himself again, straightening and watching as his son left his chamber with a short bow.

Thranduil stood at the front gate when Legolas and several other elves rode out, the prince sitting on his favourite mare and soon disappearing in the woods. The Elvenking watched him for long minutes before he returned to his palace and let the heavy doors close shut behind him, locking out the smallest rays of light.

 

_The cloak on his shoulders, blood scarlet silk and snow white furs pulled him against the ground heavily, a weight he felt too weak to hold. He spoke the words, he repeated them after his father's most trusted friend, the syllables pouring from his lips lightly._

_He didn't feel responsibility, he only felt burdens he would never be able to get rid of again. He felt expectant eyes staring at his back as he knelt, vowing to protect the realm and its people, swearing to be a fair and just king, to bring peace to this land._

_Of course, no one believed it would be as easy as a promise. It would take more blood, more pain, more heartbreak. More death. And then, only then, would peace come, after wreaking havoc and destroying what once was good._

_Thranduil spoke the words then rose, turning around to look at his people. They had hope in their eyes, hope that the young king lost completely, hope to see a better world perhaps. He couldn't help looking for a black spot in the crowd, his eyes longing for the sight of raven coloured leather clothes, curly locks and a crystalline gaze. He found it not, but eventually his glance settled upon the only one wearing black and he kept looking. She was mourning, but a smile was hidden behind the veil she covered her face with, and Thranduil inhaled deeply._

_It was the day of his coronation, and everyone rejoiced but him._

 

**LONG AGES EARLIER**

More than eighty years of being a refugee. More than eighty years of living in camps, bereaved of the basic conveniences, a chamber or a feather bed. More than eighty years in grief, uncertainty and bitter songs of times long gone. More than eighty years on the Isle of Balar, waiting for the right time to leave.

After eighty years, the time came and they left. Men and elves alike abandoned their tents, sat in the ships and sailed back to the shore, looking into the future with hope. Some, at least, found it in themselves to hope. Others had not, not even today.

Thranduil, son of Oropher was amongst the few who saw light in the dark in those days. He was young, sitting high on his horse and shaking off the torturous years of the exile as if it was mere dust on his cloak. He truly believed life could be now as he imagined, and, as long as he had his friends by his side, no harm would ever come to him. He hoped to see a better world once they crossed the borders of Lindon, and he hoped he could leave behind the memories of his former life, the former tragedies.

The bloodshed coloured his mind like paint soaking the canvas, so deep that it could never be fully removed, yet, he had the ability given to him by the Valar of mercy to lock away the memories he didn't need. He couldn't forget, but he didn't need to suffer like so many others had. He could narrow his thoughts to the very basics, to hope and youth and all the wildness and recklessness that came with it. His father strictly believed in the importance of recalling the bitter times over and over again, to never forget and learn from the happenings of the past, but Thranduil lived in the present, finding little joy in mourning the once pleasant days.

Nevertheless, he followed his father wherever he went, he just learned when to ignore the wise elf. He preferred looking for the company of his mother or his friends instead, and he had done so now as well.

"Aerlinn nín," Aerithil smiled, her face soft and warm with love as Thranduil rode next to her, sparing an apologetic look at his mother's maid who stayed close to her so far. The maid, named Idhrenil frowned but let the prince approach his mother without further complications, and she stayed behind. "What brings you to me all of a sudden?"

Thranduil turned to look at her, taking in her gentle features with a warmth spreading in his chest. His mother was the most beautiful female he had ever seen in his yet short life, and he felt weak whenever he was close to her. Not weak in the negative term, more in the fashion that elves would have never denied, nor been ashamed of in front of others. Aerithil brought the best out of him, and Thranduil held her dear, more than anyone else on Arda.

"Father is not the best company at the dawn of a new age, mother," Thranduil looked ahead, immediately finding his father with his glance. The elf was riding tall and lithe on his horse, although obviously uncomfortably. He was used to elks, after all, but they weren't available on the Isle of Balar, no matter how much he wished and longed for them. Thranduil had never understood, and he just shook his head. "Why the love for the elks, nana? I cannot seem to know the reason."

Aerithil chuckled, running delicate fingers through the mane of her snow white foal. The horse seemed to find it pleasant, for it made sounds Thranduil thought were appreciative. His mother had always understood animals more than anyone else the prince had known, and she especially favoured horses. More than once Thranduil spent afternoons with her in the stables of Doriath as a child, and those were the best and first memories he had. As long as they were connected to his mother, they were all happy and peaceful reminiscences.

"The day the first elves woke near the bay of Cuiviénen, many of us were scattered in the forests, seeing all but leaves and the trees but not the stars. We were awaken by the firsts and we sang songs, learned to talk. But your father was far in the woods, sleeping alone on a small moorland, and the dark lord Melkor had already sent the evil spirits by the time one of us, Elwë found him. Elwë wandered the woods on the back of an elk, and many say they chased the evil spirits out of that part of the forest together, riding the huge antlered beast until they found Elwë's people again."

Thranduil blinked, not quite knowing whether he should believe his mother's story or should stay sceptic on the matter. He could see the moment in his vision, his father and the later mighty King Thingol riding an elk together, but it was way too absurd for his imagination and he dismissed the thought immediately. Aerithil laughed again at the face her son made, but Thranduil only smiled with furrowed brows.

"Is this for real now, nana?"

"Would I ever lie to you, aerlinn nín?" she sighed, cupping Thranduil's face with one hand carefully while she held onto the reins with the other. "Your father rode elks ever since, taming those giant animals becoming one of his most admired skills. And he will continue to do so, in the memory of his beloved friend, I know that much."

The gaze of the young prince wandered to his father again, the long silver-golden locks caressing the older elf's back as wind brushes against the leaves on the trees. He remembered Oropher's face as Elu Thingol was slain in front of their eyes, he remembered the sorrow and the grief that rendered his father speechless for days. Tears unshed and a friendship broken with such suddenness changed the elf of true ambitions and huge dreams into an empty shell, led by his wife, partly healed by her hand only. Had Aerithil not been there for him, he would have died surely, Thranduil knew that. The last years were hard for the both of them, but they were not alone, the refugee camp made it sure.

"He will not be like this forever," Aerithil's velvet voice brought Thranduil back to reality, drawing his gaze to the lady in white, perfection hidden behind silk robes. Thranduil eased as his mother touched his hand, leaving warm circles on his skin against the mark of cool winds and water filled with salt. Thranduil felt rough in the face of that touch, and he all but melted under that palm. "Do not worry. He can endure much, and he would never consider leaving you or dismissing his plans for the future. Elwë had always wanted him to pursue his dreams on building a kingdom, and your father will do just that. Give him time, aerlinn nín."

Thranduil nodded gently, wrapping his fingers around his mother's with a smile. She had a skin lighter than snow and touch softer than feather, her voice ringing like the sound of nightingales in the spring forests, her hair golden with rare braids, laying on the saddle and stretching down almost as long as the ground. Her beauty was ethereal, and anyone could have told she was formed by the hands of Eru Ilúvatar himself. Pure she was, the source of godly wisdom, and Thranduil felt unique to have such mother and to feel such love for her.

She pulled away her hand after a bit of further lingering, then she inhaled and turned her head to look behind.

"Your friends are growing restless in the back, it seems," she noted, a knowing smile forming on her lips as she faced her son again. Thranduil loved how she could drop the likeness of a godess and show her more human side in the fraction of a second, and he soon found himself grinning absentmindedly. "You rudely pushed my beloved Idhrenil behind, so it is time for her to retake her former place."

Thranduil rolled his eyes as he turned his horse and marked out of the line, giving a chance for his mother's maid to ride in his place. She gave him a satisfied smile, but Thranduil simply laughed resignedly, trotting slowly to join his friends a few lines back in the march. He appeared next to Galadriel, scaring the princess nearly to death and earning a quick frown from Celeborn immediately.

"Why so serious, hiril nín?" Thranduil asked, a playful grin tugging at his lips. Galadriel stared at him with false resentment, something akin to Thranduil's mischief glimmering in her eyes behind the aftermath of being frightened. Only Celeborn looked completely serious, though he had suffered greater losses with the death of Elu Thingol, mourning still burdening him heavily on ways Thranduil found hard to understand. He knew he had to be careful with his old friend, for he was fueled swiftly and he did not wish to cause him pain. Thanks to the Valar, Galadriel was there to help him.

"This lady is ready to take her revenge at the moment you least expect it, Thranduil," she answered, her smile widening with every word. Thranduil tried to look concerned, but it was more just for the sake of fun, of course. "It should scare you, mellon nín."

Thranduil almost laughed out loud, but the still sour expression of Celeborn made him hold his tongue. He needed to show respect and sympathy, and not laughing as if it was the most peaceful day in the history of Arda might have done good service.

"I better stay quiet, for you would take my head had I said what is on my mind," he murmured loud enough so only Galadriel could hear, and, even though the princess didn't say a word, she pushed hard at him on the shoulder. He nearly fell from his horse, but he held his composure and decided to change the topic and involve Celeborn as well. The least he thinks of the past, the best it shall be for him. "A feast is thrown to celebrate our arrival and the defeat of Morgoth upon this night. I was hoping you two lovebirds would be kind enough to join me and drink some wine, to enjoy the freshly raised palace of Gil-galad."

Celeborn made a face that obviously meant he was completely against every kind of celebration or event that meant pretending being joyous that night, but Galadriel spoke before he would have had the chance to start protesting.

"It would cause no harm in any of us, a bit of celebration," she said, hopefully eyeing her beloved from the corner of her eye. Thranduil watched them carefully, being fascinated by how obviously the lines and the feelings hidden behind them on Celeborn's face changed as he locked eyes with the daughter of Finarfin, the love almost tangible in the air. "You wouldn't mind, would you, meleth nín?"

There was a slight amount of hesitation, some pleading in Celeborn's eyes as he kept Galadriel's gaze, but he eventually nodded and reached for her hand.

"Anything for you, meleth nín."

Thranduil frowned as if he was sick all of a sudden, from all this love that surrounded him. He was glad, though, that Celeborn gave in and they could coax him into relaxing a little. They had been in exile for so long, stricken with grief and uncertainty that Thranduil couldn't recall the last time they truly enjoyed themselves, when they felt really young. Now, the shelter Gil-galad offered was a new chance to live, a possibility for a new beginning.

"It will be fun, you shall see," he leaned forwards to look at Celeborn, and they smiled at each other, all three of them.

Maybe one with hope was enough to rekindle faith in two more. It only needed a push.

  
Thranduil was sitting under the bright stars on that evening, the warm winds brushing his skin and playing with his long, golden locks. He placed himself on the low stone stairs, the sounds of the celebration in the palace lightly filling the air outside. The prince didn't feel like drinking or singing so he escaped as soon as he saw his chance, enjoying solitude over the abundance of elves and men within those walls.

His head was filled with disturbing thoughts over things he had heard earlier. Whispers, gossips, things misheard or fabled... Thranduil knew not what was true from them, but it burdened him and he wanted to settle his mind under the dark sky.

The Moon was shining brightly, no cloud shadowing its beauty and Thranduil thought of his mother. Aerithil meant 'holy moon', and the luminary showed the same beauty as his mother. His father chose the name for her, for they were the children of Ilúvatar. They had no names at their birth, and, while Oropher was given his name by Elwë, for he found him near a tall beech tree and that is what Oropher meant, Aerithil was given to the mother of Thranduil by her betrothed on the evening the prince was born. She had a name in the earlier centuries as well that Thranduil was never told - she always used Aerithil. His mother told the prince this tale many times: Oropher looked up at the sky, the newborn Moon shining more brightly on the sky than anything they had ever seen, and, instead of naming the crying child in his hands, he gave name for his wife. Thranduil was born under the light of the holy moon, that is what his parents told him, and to give him the name, 'vigurous spring' was his mother's wish.

The newborn was blessed by the Lady Melian, always held dear by the King of Doriath and best friend of Oropher. He was truly at home in that palace, ever since the very first moment he could open his eyes by himself. His first memories bonded him to Menegroth, and these were long years Thranduil would never forget, not after many ages.

In that moment, sitting under the stars of the Valar he wondered, yearning for the long lost, familiar lands of Doriath and he sighed, his heart not one bit eased. What he should have done with those memories, he could not tell. Mourning over them never seemed a possible solution, even though his father had done that at all times. Sometimes he caught his mother crying, but he never spoke of it. These were hard times, and, despite all of his hopes that it would not get any worse, his wishes seemed to stay unfulfilled.

"Here you are."

Celeborn's voice came unexpectedly and Thranduil slighty shuddered, the fragile peace of solitude broken in a moment. He slid to the side on the stair where he sat, giving space for his friend to join him. The silver haired elf did just that, sighing deeply and folding his arms on his knees. Thranduil saw how cup after cup Celeborn drank the wine, and, even though elves needed a truly great amount of sweet drink to feel the effect, the prince seemed eased, more than before. He was not quite drunk just yet, but a few more cups and he would have been there.

Heartbreak made one act things they otherwise would have found utterly impossible. Thranduil bit back a smile, keeping his serious expression.

"You disappeared so swiftly even Artanis didn't see you leaving," Celeborn said after a long stretched silence. It was comfortable, no tension between them while they admired the stars and the Moon. Thranduil did smile this time.

"For she has to know about everything, am I right?"

He did not turn his face to look at Celeborn, but he could feel the other elf's frown on his own face and he hung his head in amusement. He found joy in teasing Galadriel, even without her knowing, but it was the core of their friendship. Constant exchange of witty remarks, to keep the Noldorin blood sparkling in her veins. Thranduil had met one of her brothers, and he decided to approach Galadriel in the same manner as Finrod had done. As equals. And it worked beautifully, Galadriel at once being impressed by Thranduil. She was the sister he could never have, and he loved her dearly.

"I presume you have heard the news before I would have had the chance to tell you myself," Celeborn continued, now staring down at his feet instead of Thranduil.

They were in the same age, yet, Celeborn seemed so much older and wiser compared to Thranduil. The son of Oropher was wild and reckless, full of thirst for adventures and wars, while Celeborn was thoughtful and down-to-earth. Thranduil all but wept as he heard the death-rate of Ancalagon the Black, for not being able to be there and finish the beast himself, whereas Celeborn rejoiced that such evil was taken care of without spilling elvish blood. Thranduil found excitement where Celeborn was shuddering with anger, yet, they were best friends.

Thranduil eyed Celeborn carefully, watching the emotions on his face and trying to seperate the ones that might have been caused by being near drunk from those that were honest feelings.

"I cannot even see why it is important to tell me," Thranduil shrugged, but the growl drawn from Celeborn made him smile with mischief in his eyes. He could learn what annoyed his friend the most, and he gladly used his little tactics whenever he wished to take revenge on Celeborn.

"Thranduil, do not act like a child. You shall be prince soon, you should learn to behave like one," Celeborn muttered, sounding painfully like Oropher and Thranduil couldn't hold back his laughter this time. It didn't change the expression on Celeborn's face, though, for the prince was still serious and grim as he watched Thranduil. "You are my friend and I should have told you earlier. I apologise for that."

Silence fell on them, then, both of them listening to the birds singing in the distance. The woods were peaceful and undisturbed, and Thranduil already awaited hunting in them the next morning. Somehow he could tell that Celeborn was thinking about the same as they both eyed the distance, and Thranduil smiled, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. Celeborn turned to him, surprised.

"I knew you had your mind upon establishing your own realm with Galadriel since we left Doriath, mellon nín," Thranduil said softly, his hold on Celeborn's shoulder becoming gradually stronger but still gentle enough. "You cannot cheat me. You are like a brother to me, I know when something is filling your mind."

Celeborn's smile was almost fatherly as he looked at Thranduil, their eyes locking for a short moment. It was a rare moment between them, for Thranduil couldn't understand the other too often. He usually found him dull and way too concerned about ruling and kingdoms, but Thranduil understood how important this was to Celeborn now. He lost his closest relative, the one he all but called father, and thinking about finding an own homeland was necessary for the prince.

The only thing hurting Thranduil was the fact that he would be left alone, but he was never the one to act selfishly. He kept silent and smiled.

"You are not angry, then?" Celeborn asked softly, almost hopefully. Thranduil couldn't fight the urge to laugh again, silently, as if it was only a huff of breath.

"Of course I am not," he pulled his arm back, turning back to stare at the stars with a deep sigh. He noticed new constallations every day, giving them names in his mind, even though he knew they already had ones. He saw one now, too. "You see those three stars there? They look like a triangle."

Celeborn followed the way Thranduil was pointing, and he didn't have to look hard to find the stars the other was talking about. They smiled, one with awe and the other with softness, the prince's face thoughtful and the lines on it deep with wonder. The stars were close to each other, shining more brightly than the others around them, and they were also bigger in size. Celeborn had taken his part in admiring the sky-scape many times, but he couldn't recall seeing those stars ever before.

He looked down at his friend, watching carefully as Thranduil's smile widened and the reflection of the dark sky sat in his blue eyes. He looked like a child, and Celeborn would have liked to shake his head with exasperation.

"Those shall be our stars, what do you say?" he asked finally, earning a confused grin from his friend. "One for Galadriel, one for you, and one for me. A pledge for our friendship to never fade."

Thranduil looked at him like he offered the world for him, and Celeborn couldn't hold back a soft laughter at the other's expression. The awe was almost tangible in the air, and Thranduil didn't have to say anything. The prince understood everything just by looking into his eyes.

They named the constallation Gîlnelthil, the shining triangle of the sky. Only they knew what it truly meant.

  
One thousand and near four hundred years had passed since that first night in Lindon, the gîlnelthil still bright on the sky every night. One thousand and near four hundred years. They seemed swift for an elf, all but eventless and the fraction of a second, while generations of people fell and born all the time. Kingdoms rose and the people either ruled or had been ruled. There were things that constantly changed, and there were others that stayed exactly the same. It was the same with people.

In the case of Thranduil only one thing seemed to be permanent. The elf himself, although, now prince of Greenwood. His friends were gone to build their own kingdom, and so was his father. He saw them often, but not often enough. When he saw them he missed someone else, but he guessed it was all well. He stayed the same throughout the years while everyone was constantly changing.

Fate, however, had a plan for Thranduil even, and she brought him to face his own change after exactly one thousand, three hundred and fifty years of the beginning of the Second Age.

And this change spoke to him, starting the prince to the very core.

"I remember you."

Thranduil turned on his heels so quickly he got dazed, and the moment he laid his eyes on the stranger that spoke to him, his eyes widened. There was no doubt, he was one of the Noldor, Thranduil coud tell that right away. He had piercing, crystalline eyes and curly, dark locks that almost reached his waist. Everything on him was black, as black as the feathers of the raven and Thranduil slightly gaped as he took in the sight. The stranger was eating an apple casually, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed in front of his breast, and he had a knowing smile on his face.

The prince tried to ignore that his first thought was on the beauty of the dark elf. He tried and failed.

"Good for you," Thranduil finally settled with this answer, forcing a small smile onto his face.

They were standing in the middle of the forest, and this unusual stranger held him up. Thranduil was on the road long enough to feel completely wearied, and he wished more than anything to find a place to camp for the night and reach Lindon as soon as possible. His steed was tired after the long way through the Misty Mountains, and so was he.

"I wouldn't be able to tell how, though," the stranger continued as if he was completely oblivious. Thranduil fought back the urge to roll his eyes so he just started walking forwards, hoping the elf in the dark clothes would leave him finally.

Luck didn't serve him on that day, it seemed.

"You seem like a royal one. How come you are alone?"

The stranger was following him with comfortable steps, occasionally biting into his apple loudly. The whole forest was echoing from him, and Thranduil felt a headache building behind his eyes. He wasn't in the mood for this conversation, but he didn't want to be rude either.

"I could ask the same, save for the part with being royal," Thranduil responded tiredly, changing his pace and walking slightly faster. If that would not be enough of a sign for the other then he truly had an ulterior motive, and the prince really did not feel like being robbed or attacked right now. Especially that, had he died here, not even halfway home, his father would follow him into the Halls of Mandos only to kill him again for lying to him. Oropher didn't exactly know that Thranduil made a little by-pass to Lórien, only to see his friends, and the king wouldn't have been exactly overjoyous to hear about it. He had to be careful and quick.

Therefore, he didn't have time for this. Not at all.

"Ouch," the stranger let out a mixture of laughter and a huff of breath, but Thranduil didn't stop. "It hurt, I hope you know that."

Thranduil did roll his eyes this time.

"Why, was I wrong?"

"Nah, no," Thranduil could almost hear the headshake and the grin, closely followed by another bite of the apple. His stomach started to yearn for attention immediately, not seeing proper food for quite a while now, but he kept marching and ignored the hunger that grew inside him. "I would die first, and it is a big thing to hear from an elf. And I am pretty sure I'm at least an age older than you, pretty boy."

"You know, you are annoying," Thranduil stopped abruptly, and not even he knew the reason. He guessed it was a decision he made absentmindedly, or he just had had enough of the other's senseless chattering. The fact that he was following the prince was just an additional push in the direction of snapping and starting yelling loudly, but Thranduil tried to hold himself together, as he was always taught by his father.

He regained his composure, eyeing the other's face for a while before exhaling with eyelids falling shut.

"Do you have any idea who I am?" Thranduil asked carefully, opening his eyes to look at the stranger again. The one with the apple just smiled, swallowing the bite in his mouth before speaking, the smug smile the same on his lips.

"I am pretty sure I told you I don't remember where I have seen you," he blinked, every single word itching on the prince's skin. "But if you told me your name-"

"Do you want to rob me, then?" the blonde interrupted, feeling dangerously close to raising his voice again. It wouldn't have been too smart to attract attention in a place so completely abandoned in the middle of nowhere, for anyone could have wandered there. But Thranduil hoped he could handle the situation until the other would finally decide to leave him alone. "Or to kill me? Kidnap me?"

The one in black stared for a few moments then started laughing, throwing the remnants of his apple into the sweet green grass. He approached slowly, and Thranduil couldn't help himself when his eyes started to take in the whole body of the stranger. His movements were predatory, like a hunter closing in on his victim, and he felt his own back pressing against the side of his horse gently. It wasn't right to feel like this after so much training, so many lessons on how to act and think like a prince. They all seemed useless now. This elf was mesmerizing, and Thranduil swallowed hard as his eyes roamed freely on the muscles under the dark clothes.

Before he could've stopped himself, he was already thinking about how it would feel to touch him, to lead his fingertips on that waist, down to the hips and even lower. His eyes returned to the other's face, and his mind immediately rekindled his curiosity again. What would it taste like to touch his tongue to that pale skin? To look for the pulse on his neck, how would he smell? Would he shudder under his hands, would he moan? Would he press himself against Thranduil and give him over or would he fight for domination?

He soon found himself shivering, and he couldn't even hear what the other was telling him. He saw the lips moving but all he could think about was how they would taste under his own, how he would capture them and let his tongue-

"Did you hear me?"

Thranduil shook himself out of his thoughts, returning to reality only to face the cunning grin on the other's face. He felt like something was missing but he didn't care, trying to fight the heat that reddened his face. He could feel it, and he tore his eyes from the other, staring down at his feet.

And that's when he saw it. What he felt missing was his sword, and it was in the stranger's hand, just like his own. Thranduil snapped his head with disbelief, but the other's expression was the same. He had soft lines on his face that quickened Thranduil's heart and he found himself gaping slightly while they stared at each other.

"I asked if you wanted me to kill you," the one with black hair said, standing so close already that Thranduil could feel every bit of his breath on his own skin. The prince was rendered completely speechless and he was unable to form coherent words for long moments, feeling like every ounce of air was squeezed out of his lungs. "It wouldn't be hard."

"Do it, then," Thranduil muttered, trying to ignore how his eyes were itching to slide down and take in the sight of those perfect lips once more. He forced himself to look straight into the blue eyes instead. "Kill me. It would make you only a coward, taking someone's life without a proper fight."

The stranger's smile widened, another one of his hearty laughters filling the air around them. The birds started singing at the sound, but Thranduil didn't afford to care if they were about to be caught or not. He wanted to fight him, to fight this feeling that overcame him all of a sudden, and the one in the dark clothes didn't seem to be against it.

He gave Thranduil his sword without a word and the prince took it, ignoring how his hands seemed to tremble as their fingers brushed each other. The stranger's hand was cold, his skin scarred but his fingers long and elegant, and Thranduil swallowed hard. He dropped his dark green cloak to the ground, getting a hold on the hilt of his sword firmly and following the other.

There was a small clearing where trees rarely grew, still in the middle of the forest. Thranduil had already passed it, thinking it would be too exposed to make a camp, but it was perfect for sparring. At least, he knew that for him it was only sparring, for he wouldn't kill this stranger, doesn't matter how annoying he seemed. He only hoped the other wouldn't kill him either.

"Now that I come to think about it, you didn't tell me your name either," Thranduil said after taking up the position and holding his sword so the tip of it would point straight at the other. The stranger smiled, stepping to the side gently, and Thranduil mirrored his movements with the same delicacy.

"You never asked for it."

"I never cared."

And there it was. The same smug smile all over again, with something knowing glimmering in the bluest parts of that glance. Thranduil felt his heart skipping a beat and he almost missed when the stranger rushed forward, clashing his sword against his own. The sound was painfully loud in the blonde elf's ears but he didn't even flinch, preparing for the counter-attack immediately.

The stranger moved closer, and Thranduil could tell right away that he was a professional warrior. His movements told the prince how skilled the other was, how he wielded his sword every single day, and more than once Thranduil had to jump to the side to avoid getting cut. Somehow, despite the obvious signs that the black haired elf was a professional, he seemed careful with his attacks. Whenever he would have had the chance to push Thranduil off his feet he pulled back his hand or made a mistake on purpose, trying to look clumsy. The prince couldn't be deceived so easily, though, and when he avoided another attack again, he backed away a few steps, pushing his long locks behind his shoulder.

"Do you always fight like this?" he asked, the slightest bit out of breath. "Too afraid to hurt your opponent but being skilled enough to never let them get too close? Fighting you must take hours, but I warn you, I don't have so much time."

The stranger laughed, his eyes laughing with his lips. It was so rare amongst the elves that it impressed Thranduil completely. He only knew of Galadriel who could laugh like this - everyone else was too stoic and cold to ever let themselves go in such fashion. It was a laugh of a carefree spirit, of freedom, and Thranduil would have loved to listen to it all the time.

"Maybe it is fate that brought us together, prince," the dark haired smiled, circling around Thranduil. The prince followed his steps, never letting the other to come nearer than necessary. "Maybe you should not go farther today, maybe... Maybe this encounter saved you from your doom."

"How do you know that I am a prince?" Thranduil asked, but immediately raised his sword once the stranger lunged forward again, getting impossibly close in the fraction of a second. He moved swiftly and the edge of his own sword almost touched Thranduil's cheek they were so near.

"Because you fight like one," the stranger murmured, and Thranduil, to his biggest surprise, caught himself grinning. It was his first true smile in the last few days and the realisation gave him enough power to push back the other elf and regain his stand. This dark haired warrior was so odd and unusual that Thranduil, even if he had wanted to, wouldn't have been able to solve him. However, to his luck, it wasn't his task now.

He just had to fight him and win. And then he might be able to learn his name once he had his sword pointed at the other's throat.

They sparred more seriously after that, leaving the teasing and sampling behind. Thranduil tried to keep himself from harming the other as well, always pulling back at the last moment before he could've cut him accidentally. It wasn't about the fight itself, it was about something more that Thranduil couldn't put his finger on. He completely lost his sense of time, the peace of the forest and the songs of the nightingales swallowing him whole, only the clashing of the swords keeping him at his senses.

They didn't seem to be able to overcome each other, and Thranduil knew that the stranger was waiting for him to yield. A warrior would have never yielded as a matter of courtesy, but having a prince do that would have been one real achievement. Of course Thranduil didn't plan on giving up so easily, and he could've kept fighting until dawn hadn't he found himself on the ground in the next second, breathing heavily with the dark haired elf towering above him.

The prince was cornered against the trunk of a tree, his sword lying far out of reach and the stranger's weapon stabbing at his chest firmly. It didn't do harm in his clothes just yet, but with every breath he took his breast lifted and the sword pointed at him hurt more and more. Thranduil didn't show it, of course, keeping his eyes strictly at the warrior who was also out of breath, panting and staring back at the prince. They were dangerously close again, and Thranduil tried to ignore how all of his blood rushed southwards into his lower abdomen whenever his eyes moved to linger on the lips instead of the blue gaze.

And it happened way too often for his liking.

"Do you give up, your highness?" the stranger breathed, his words sending shivers down Thranduil's spine. The prince grinned again, not being able to dismiss thoughts such as tasting the skin on that jaw with his tongue out of his head. He had his heart too rapidly beating for that.

"Will you kill me?" he asked, blinking up tiredly at the dark elf and holding his gaze firmly. The stranger smiled, licking his lips ever so slightly as if to mock Thranduil even more. Every muscle in the other one's thigh tensed against Thranduil's legs as he knelt by the prince's side, their chests almost touching whenever they inhaled.

"I cannot seem to hear fear in your voice."

"It is because I am not afraid."

Silence fell on them, the dim light of twilight wrapping them in the thousand hues of purple and orange, and the Sun was already gone behind the woods. Thranduil knew he wouldn't have time to find a proper camping-ground now, yet, he wasn't even sure he would live to see the night at all.

"Who are you?" Thranduil asked, his voice barely a whisper in the silence of the forest and the lines on the face of his opponent softened even more. He answered not just gave a small smile, leaning even closer and making Thranduil shiver as the long black locks brushed against his face.

"I don't want you to remember me by my name," he finally answered, but, before Thranduil could have spoken, the stranger lunged forward and crashed his lips against the prince's.

And Thranduil couldn't name why, but he let him.

He guessed it was only because of the lack of blood and the abundance of adrenaline in his veins that he kissed back, but he wasn't thinking about reasons in that moment. The stranger dropped his sword to the ground, holding onto the tree behind Thranduil with one hand and cupping the prince's face with the other. The blonde elf wrapped his arms around the warrior's neck, moaning into the kiss deeply when the other slipped his tongue inside his mouth, looking for Thranduil's and eventually finding it. Their lips all but melted together as the kiss stretched longer and longer, and Thranduil felt a rush of pleasure washing over him, heading straight into his cock. He positioned himself closer against the heated body of the warrior, desperately trying to swallow his lustful moans but failing every single time. The stranger didn't make a sound just kissed Thranduil fiercely, owning him and pulling him impossibly close, his fingers tangled in the golden locks of the prince.

The aftermath of the fight, however, still didn't pass and they ran out of air more quickly than they would have liked. They pulled away in the same moment, fighting for every breath with eyes locked and dark with desire, but, by the time Thranduil gathered enough courage to lean in and steal a kiss again, the warrior abruptly stood, his sword in his hand again. Thranduil watched with naked disappointment and a member as hard as rock when the stranger pushed his sword back into its scabbard, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand swiftly. When he pulled his hand away he was smiling again, throwing his hair back and backing away painfully slowly.

"You fight well for a prince, I have to give you that," he said, already too far for Thranduil to see his expression in the shadow of the dark trees. "Maybe one day you can beat me."

And with that, he was gone. And Thranduil was sitting there for a long while afterwards, waiting for the stranger to come back and tell him it was a joke, but he eventually had to realise it was not going to happen.

He finished himself off with a desperate cry, not being aware of the watchful gaze that lingered on him for the whole night.


	2. With Eyes Closed

_"Aerlinn nín."_

Thranduil's eyes fluttered open and immediately found his mother's green ones. She was sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing her most beautiful smile as she reached out with one hand to brush away a stray lock from her son's face. The elf silently purred under the touch and shifted on the sheets, closing his eyes again. He liked these mornings when he knew there was no reason to hurry, when he could stay in bed for long hours without any responsibilities.

He especially liked them when Aerithil was there with him, and he felt like a little elfling again. The sunshine pleasantly warmed his skin as he turned his face towards the light, white dots dancing behind his closed eyelids. His mother gently followed the line of his eyebrows with her fingers, down to his cheek, stopping at the tip of his chin.

"You still sleep with your eyes closed, iôn nín," Aerithil murmured, and Thranduil could all but feel the smile on her face. She was so graceful that it never ceased to put the prince in the state of peace and wonder. His mother was magic and everyone who had ever spoken to her knew it.

"I will always sleep with my eyes closed," he responded, his voice barely a whisper. He felt far from reality, as if he was still dreaming, and even Aerithil's words sounded like they came from a whole different world. They echoed through his mind, only to return countless times and burn into his memory.

Elves never slept with their eyes closed, it was a well known fact amongst every race. They were the creatures of Eru, resting more than actually sleeping and always being ready for everything. They found their peace in admiring the stars, the beauties of Arda and the sounds of running water. Ever since their awakening, no one knew of an elf who had done anything differently, save for Thranduil. He spent daytime and the evenings with studying the skies and the nature, but at night, he was captivated by his dreams and he fell into their depths. He created his own realities instead of the one he was living in, and he often imagined living a different life. He found his peace in that, therefore, he slept with his eyes closed.

And no one understood why.

"It is a late hour to still be in bed, Thranduil," she said softly, turning her son's face back to her. The younger elf opened his eyes slowly, his hand moving from under the blankets to rest in his mother's lap. Aerithil wore the whitest of her drapes, silky and almost glimmering in the light, perfectly matching her delicate, light skin. Thranduil's wrist was all but the same colour, the blue of his veins slightly colouring the soft skin.

Thranduil moaned silently, a supressed yawn ringing from his voice.

"A prince can have some time for himself to rest, can't he?" he asked, his voice hoarse but a grin playing in it. Aerithil touched his lips, her warm hands lovingly cosseting the pinkness.

"Indeed, he can," she smiled. "But it is way past the time of rest, and you have to be present at the arrival of the Lady of Lórien today."

The prince flinched ever so slightly, obviously completely forgetting about the event of the day. He did feel like a child, for he turned to his side and pulled the pillow over his head, the cool sheets unpleasantly shooing away the ghost of his mother's touch. He heard Aerithil's silent laugh and he shifted even closer, his stomach pressing against his mother's back.

"She would understand had I missed her reception," he said, his words are nothing more than a muffled mix of moans under the pillow. "She knows me too well."

"She would understand, but the king wouldn't," Aerithil pulled the pillow away, drawing a definitely not satisfied moan from her son. She was still smiling, leaving her hand to rest on the broad chest of Thranduil. "And I want to see you there as well. Galadriel is a lady, not just your friend. You are a prince. You must be there."

And Thranduil knew, he knew so well. He knew it more than anyone else how his friend grew from being a young Noldorin girl to a lady, one who cannot wait to rule her own people by the side of the one she loved more than anything. Thranduil saw, and he was there all along. The proof, Gîlnelthil was still shining brightly on the sky-scape every night, even after thousands of years, and he felt proud that his friends managed to do the same as Oropher. It was only him now, still trying to find his place and never quite succeeding.

No one rushed him, though, it was only his nature and the impatience that definitely came from his father. Because sometimes he felt like he couldn't wait for any longer, and facing the fact that he had no other choice than to do that pained him. But he waited, nonetheless. He just hoped it would be worth it eventually.

"Is it wrong?" he asked silently, blinking up at Aerithil. She slightly furrowed her delicate eyebrows, not quite understanding what her son was trying to ask. "That I close my eyes. Father often seems worried about it."

The confusion vanished from her face as she kept watching Thranduil, his heart beating steadily under her touch. He was just as soft as his mother, not at all like Oropher. The older elf was made for war, to fight and to wield swords, but Thranduil was fragile and awesome. He was one of the most beautiful elves of Lindon, and, even back in Doriath, he was considered a true high elf for his beauty. He was his mother's son, and Aerithil would have never wanted it any other way.

"Aerlinn nín, the first thing you have to learn on this world is that being different is not always bad," she pressed her hand against Thranduil's chest softly, snaking it up until she could cup his face. He watched her with care. "Most of us haven't seen the Undying Lands, we have never tasted the wines of the Valar and we have never felt the light of their grace upon our skin. We are already different from many others. But it doesn't make us worse, iôn nín. The way you rest only makes you special, and one day someone shall be by your side to kiss those eyelids open everytime you wish."

Thranduil couldn't help the smile that crept onto his lips, the words of his mother reaching his heart and wrapping it in a warm embrace. Indeed, it had never felt wrong, but the look in Oropher's eyes suggested something completely different. He had rarely cast his glance upon his son without worry, and Thranduil could never understand, even though he tried so hard. Aerithil told him not to care, but it was harder than it seemed.

Oropher then left for the distant woods beyond the Misty Mountains and he took the look with him. He only left the memories behind, and they often haunted Thranduil. He just tried to occupy his mind at all times to never have time to think about it.

"Prepare for today now, Thranduil," Aerithil caressed his face one last time before standing from the bed, pulling her clothes around herself more closely. She was lithe and all but glowing, and Thranduil kept his eyes on her as he sat up, throwing back his hair behind his shoulders. "Gil-galad wishes to have a word with you before the reception."

Thranduil slightly furrowed his eyebrows but he nodded nonetheless, carefully following his mother's steps with his eyes as she left the room. The sound of her clothes sweeping the ground behind her echoed through his mind over and over again until he decided to leave his bed and dress. He could not recall any reason for why the king would have wished to talk with him, but Thranduil didn't mind. Gil-galad had always been fond of the prince, for he had no heir himself and he liked the adventurous nature of Thranduil. The king often took him to hunts, and the blonde elf appreciated those times when he could escape the palace for a while. He preferred the silence and bliss of the forest over the bustle of the palace, after all.

The stones were warm underneath his feet as he walked them, the sunshine kissing his skin while he approached his dresser. He had loved his clothes, and he ran his fingers over the soft fabric of the one he wished to wear today. He smiled to himself absentmindedly, then he took the white shirt and the leggings, dropping them onto his bed. Swift fingers pulled the long, golden locks into one silky braid, hanging over Thranduil's wide chest as he slipped out of his nightclothes and pulled the shirt over his head. He set the sleeves and then stepped into the leggings, the soft material emphasizing the curves of his long legs perfectly. Then came the boots and the royal blue coat, one of his favourites, and once he was done with the clothing, he undid the braid and let his hair fly all over his shoulders freely.

He was the elven prince Thranduil again, and he stared at himself in the mirror for a few moments. Bright blue eyes and gentle lips from his mother, chiselled features and straight, long locks from his father. Thranduil, Prince of the Woodland Realm.

In his dreams he was everything but this, but he knew he had to concentrate now. He could not let his mind roam freely, longing for adventures and battles and dragons while he had his own duties. It was not 'princely', as he had heard so many times from Oropher. It didn't even need saying anymore.

Thranduil left his room without looking back, his bed untended. He knew someone would come and set it right for him, even though his mother had always told him to do it himself. He was running out of time now, though, so he headed straight to the main hall of the palace, swallowed in the crowd once he entered the corridors. Sunshine reflected on the white marble walls as he walked, nodding his head gently whenever someone addressed him. Most of the elves knew him, respected him, some probably didn't like him, but they were forced to greet him everytime. Thranduil remembered none of their names, for he didn't care about them as much as he liked to care about his own people. Oropher had always said the Noldor were never to be underestimated or fooled, for their nature was less forgiving then the Sindar's. The two kins avoided each other most of the time, seeking for the smallest bit of interaction only. Thranduil wasn't any different, save for Galadriel who was an exception.

The thought of his friend coaxed an excited smile from the prince. He seemingly realised only now that his friend was truly visiting Lindon today, and his steps grew faster with every moment. He reached the main hall within the matter of seconds, and he felt relief that the reception hadn't started just yet. Many elves were gathering in the chamber of the throne, including the high elves of the once mighty kingdom of Doriath, other elves who had seen the exile as well and, of course, his mother. She was by the side of the king, exchanging thoughts silently with small smiles on their faces.

Thranduil stopped at the door and just watched for a minute, studying the way they talked. He heard nothing over the sound of the crowd and the distant song of harps, but he could tell many things from the fashion Aerithil and Gil-galad were conversing. Only a blind man couldn't have told that the High King of the Noldor found Thranduil's mother fascinating, for the look he wore on his face had told more than a thousand words. The awe in his eyes and the smile he addressed to Aerithil was the same Thranduil had always seen on Oropher, and, even though the prince knew he should have found it outraging that Gil-galad had an affection for her so obviously when it was completely unacceptable, he found it in himself not. The king wasn't going to act on his feelings, and it was a certain fact Thranduil wouldn't have ever doubted after knowing Gil-galad for so long. And until it was the case, no one would get hurt and Thranduil would smile at the sight of the two entertaining each other.

Aerithil was the first to notice her son, smiling at him brightly and waving for him to come closer. Thranduil, as if just waking from a dream, smiled back softly and walked across the hall to them.

"Iôn nín, what a pleasure to see you clothed so fine," Aerithil noted with the slightest motherly picking and Thranduil sighed deeply with a resigned smile. He let his head hung, his fingers entwined in front of his thighs. "We have just talked about your fondness of sleeping."

"Never mind your love of dreaming, Thranduil," Gil-galad smiled, placing a hand upon the prince's shoulder and squeezing it lightly. Thranduil looked up from behind his lashes. "Our lives would be awfully long and dull without the hope our dreams could come true one day."

Thranduil couldn't help the smile that spread on his face at that. Somewhere deep in his heart he felt glad that the king understood him, and the loving gaze of his mother was just yet another reason to keep smiling. Sometimes he forgot that he wasn't alone, that Galadriel and Celeborn weren't his only friends that he could count on. And realising that there were others as well filled his heart with warmth every time.

"Join me for a glass of the finest wine of Middle-earth."

Thranduil shook his head only slightly, finding Gil-galad pulling him to the side with a gentle expression. Sometimes he reminded the prince of his father, but, then again, Oropher wasn't the one to smile so often. Gil-galad had it in his nature to be nice towards everyone and never assuming the worst possibility of strangers. He treated Thranduil as if he was his own son, and Thranduil didn't hesitate to join him wherever he was going.

"Have you ever heard of Dorwinion before, young prince?" the king asked while reaching a long, wooden table and taking a glass with delicate movements. Thranduil didn't remember his mother joining in a conversation with others and leaving them alone, but he somehow understood that it was the time for that talk Aerithil told him about earlier.

"No, Your Majesty," Thranduil shook his head, not quite understanding the reason behind the question just yet. He watched as Gil-galad poured the almost silky, crimson wine into the glass in his hand, not even half full. He felt a tingling in his mouth as he eyed the drink. He had always liked wine, but this one looked especially tasty.

Gil-galad smiled at the prince's expression and turned to Thranduil with his whole body.

"Beyond the realm of your father's, there is the Sea of Rhûn," Gil-galad started, running his fingers on the edge of the glass gently. Thranduil felt mesmerized just by staring at it, but he eventually forced himself to look up at the elf and at least pretend to listen. "That's where Dorwinion lays, and that's where the best wines arrive from every summer. A very close friend of both of us found out for the very first time how magnificent the Dorwinion wine is, and I appreciate that revelation ever since."

Slightly furrowing his eyebrows, Thranduil kept thinking about who that common friend could be, but, as if he was reading the prince's mind, Gil-galad quickly added:

"The Shipwright, Nowë," the king smiled and recognition spread on Thranduil's face immediately. "Cirdan it was. Even though he doesn't drink much, he thought others could enjoy this wonder anyway. He is a wise elf, as we all know."

He handed Thranduil the glass and the prince took it carefully. He could already feel the sweet scent that all but rendered him dizzy right away, but he raised it to his lips eventually. The first taste was so strong he nearly dropped the glass, but once the canaan of flavours melted on his tongue and he swallowed, his eyelids dropped closed. He couldn't help the memories that washed over his mind all at once, this sensation reminding him of the dearest moments of his life. Cirdan was a good friend to his father and, even if Thranduil himself had rarely met him, he felt endless gratitude towards the ancient elf in that second.

The prince wished for nothing more than to drink the whole cup, but Gil-galad slowly took it from his hand and put it down on the table, a fatherly smile addressed to Thranduil.

"It is not wise to drink too much, even for a prince. One sip is more than enough to reach the wished impact, trust me," he placed his hand on Thranduil's shoulder again and, feeling the said impact already, the blonde elf nodded and stopped casting longing looks towards the cup. "I have had plenty with my beautiful sister Nethil when we were young, but those times are over."

"I knew not you have a sister, Your Grace," Thranduil raised his eyebrows with surprise, regretting his remark immediately once he saw sadness spreading on the king's face. Often one look was enough to tell a thousand words, and Thranduil understood it clearly. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I didn't mean to-"

"It is quite alright," Gil-galad squeezed Thranduil's shoulder softly, staring down at the marble floor. Thranduil felt ashamed, though, and decided to stay quiet. "I lost her a long time ago. I can still recall her face and her laughter, crystal clearly. I like thinking of her. She was dear to me."

Silence fell upon them, then, not too tensed but not really comfortable either. Gil-galad was obviously deep in memories while Thranduil tried to imagine how it must feel to lose someone so beloved. He knew he would never recover had he lost his friends, let alone his mother or his father. He often wished he had had a sibling, but he guessed it was for the best. He wouldn't have been able to share Aerithil's attention anyway.

"But tell me now, Thranduil," Gil-galad returned to reality swiftly, pulling the prince with him as well. Thranduil turned to him, looking him straight in the eye. The sadness was gone, only the warm glance wrapped Thranduil's heart in a friendly embrace again. "How is the Woodland Realm? I assume it will be soon ready to have you and your mother within comfortable circumstances."

Thranduil felt quite naked at the question, not really knowing how to answer. Oropher's kingdom was building gradually and in a good pace, already being well enough to live in it, but Aerithil had never mentioned that they should move out of Lindon. Maybe the king was already burdened by their presence? Thranduil felt utterly confused, but he decided to try and act like a prince instead of a useless, wee elfling. For the first time in his life.

"My father had worked hard and Greenwood is a place where anyone would gladly live," he said after clearing his throat shortly. Gil-galad had an amused look in his eyes as he kept his gaze on Thranduil, as if he was an interrogator. It made Thranduil's heart beat a bit faster than usual, but he kept his expression straight. "My mother hadn't seen it yet, so I am sure she will soon wish to journey East."

"I am glad your father had reached what he was wishing for for so long," the king nodded shortly, his smile barely visible but undoubtedly present. "I was asking only to make sure you don't plan on leaving Lindon just yet. It would be a terribly dull place without my favourite hunting partner, and your mother's beauty and grace shines through the palace every day. I wouldn't wish for you to leave, but if that is what you must do, I can also understand that. It must be hard to be so far from your father."

Thranduil didn't really know how to react at first. It was a strange situation he kept thinking about every day, but he found it in himself not to really long for Greenwood. His future kingdom was beautiful and peaceful, the elves there were friendly and they appreciated the wonders of Arda, but something pulled him to Lindon, as if he still had something to stay for. He didn't know what, he just knew he couldn't leave.

Not yet.

"I don't think we will leave anytime soon, Your Majesty," Thranduil gave the king a small smile, earning a relieved sigh from Gil-galad. "And I am glad you praise my hunting skills so much, I myself think I am terrible at it, unlike so many other elves here."

"My Lord."

Gil-galad was still laughing at Thranduil's response when the polite interrupter spoke, and both of them turned their heads in his direction. Thranduil immediately recognised the dark haired elf named Lindir. He was the closest servant of Gil-galad, and the prince remembered often seeing him by the side of Elrond while the Lord of Rivendell still dwelt in Lindon. He was wondering how came that Lindir stayed behind with Gil-galad while it was so obvious how strong his relationship was with the half-elf, half-man, but he hadn't known him that well to ask him. Lindir's work had always been greatly appreciated by Gil-galad, that wasn't a secret.

The king smiled at him.

"Tell me what news you brought, Lindir."

The servant shifted as he stood, apparently a bit uncomfortable in the presence of Thranduil. The son of Oropher was respected, but no one knew him well enough to like him. Lindir wasn't any different either, but the prince learned to endure the distance.

"The Lady Galadriel had arrived," the servant said silently, casting soft looks at the elves as he spoke.

A light kindled in Gil-galad's eyes that Thranduil could identify as excitement, and he started walking towards the group of elves where Aerithil had been conversing as well.

"Let her in, then. Let's not make the Lady of Lórien wait for any longer," Gil-galad pressed his palms together, winking at Thranduil as they moved to the side of the room just like everyone else.

Thranduil found it quite hard to fight his anticipation as the huge doors opened and every head turned to look at the beauty that filled the whole hall with splendour. There was a great escort of elves that followed the Lady Galadriel closely, the wife of Celeborn walking inside the room with her unreadable smile. Her eyes found Thranduil right away, and her face lit up in that very moment. Thranduil couldn't find it in himself to hold back a low chuckle, remembering every bickering and inside joke at once, and he felt like at home again.

Just like back in Doriath.

"Artanis," Gil-galad stepped forwards, his smile loving and almost fatherly. He spread his arms to both sides, approaching Galadriel slowly. "Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo."

Galadriel only now removed her eyes from Thranduil and turned to look at the King of Lindon, raising her hand gently to sign for her escort to stop. The armed warriors and other elves of Lórien then stopped, taking in their surroundings while Galadriel let Gil-galad kiss her cheek and hug her tightly. Thranduil stole a glance at his mother, only to see the beautiful smile of Aerithil ever growing with every second. She was really fond of Galadriel, and seeing her had always filled her with joy, Thranduil knew it well.

He seeked the sight of Galadriel again, taking her in with one long look. She didn't change much, he had to note that. Lithe and majestic just as always, her long, golden locks brushing the small of her back ever so gently.

He was growing impatient the longer the two high elves were speaking, but the prince immediately forgot all his problems once his eyes reached Galadriel's shoulder. For there, behind the tall figure of the Lady of Lórien stood a dark haired elf, staring straight at him without a blink. A pair of piercing blue eyes, familiar lips and raven-black locks that didn't even reach his chest. He wore black, and the cunning smile on his face was placing a knot in Thranduil's stomach.

He knew this man way too much. And he remembered the taste of those lips better than the meal he had last night, even though the former event took place more than a thousand years ago.

It was the unknown warrior from the woods. And he was staring at Thranduil, as if he remembered just as well as the prince.

"Mellon nín, you grew even more distracted than the last time I saw you."

Galadriel's voice was deep and soothing, immediately drawing Thranduil back to reality. He felt like waking from a dream again, looking at his friend only to find her staring right at him. Her smile was warm and kind, and she held her hand on Thranduil's lower arm carefully. The prince felt that Gil-galad and Aerithil were staring at him as well, and he felt uncomfortable while trying to regain his composure.

"On the contrary, I must say you haven't changed anything, hiril vuin," he answered with a bow, earning a bright smile from Galadriel.

She then leant forward to kiss him on the cheek, her other palm brushing against the side of his face as she lingered close to him for long moments. Thranduil felt an itching inside his chest to tear himself from those arms and walk up to the warrior who still had his eyes on the prince, as if he was trying to memorize him as much as he could. The son of Oropher had his heart hammering in his throat the longer he stared at the dark haired elf, but Galadriel's words shook him from his thoughts quickly.

"Visit me in my chamber at noon," she whispered into his ear, sending a shiver down Thranduil's spine. He could never understand how Galadriel could always sound like she was reading his mind, knowing his deepest secrets. Somehow he felt like she already knew about the strange encounter with that warrior too, even though he had never spoken of it to anyone.

He nodded, tearing his glance from the stranger and pressing a kiss on Galadriel's cheek in response. The skin under his lips was soft and he closed his eyes for a moment, a new wave of memories washing over him.

"I am glad you are here once more, Galadriel."

The Lady of Lórien smiled, casting one more glance upon her friend before moving to greet Aerithil, leaving Thranduil to look back at the strange figure.

He wasn't there.

  
The memory of the kiss was so vivid in Thranduil's mind as if it had only happened the day before.

Long decades and centuries passed since the prince of Greenwood had first laid his eyes on the dark haired elf, as the warrior had approached him with long steps like a predator. Long years, wars, lifetimes, and yet, it lived in his mind in a way it was almost tangible. He remembered those moments every night, keeping them warm in his thoughts and never letting them go. It was his first kiss after all, his first kiss that no one knew of. Had Aerithil or Oropher known about this, they would have been outraged.

So Thranduil found it safer to keep silent and never think of sharing it with others. It was his secret, and he held it dear.

He rarely touched himself before that sparring, the fateful meeting with the unknown elf. There were other things to find pleasure in, but the touch of the stranger was still burning on his skin, and Thranduil often felt too overwhelmed to just let it go. He curled up under the blankets then, his hand snaking down on his stomach, under his trousers and running his fingers over his aching length. He didn't need long to reach the highest point of pleasure, and he laid there for long minutes with hands dripping with seed, his covers completely ruined. He kept thinking whether he would ever see that stranger again, ever feel his kiss again, ever feel his hands over his body again. Those blue eyes, that smile haunted him at all times, and he knew it was not worthy for a prince to act like that, but he didn't care.

After seeing him in the great hall and feeling that starving look on his face, Thranduil had touched himself again in his chambers. He leant against the wall with one arm, his forehead pressing against the cool stones and his other hand mercilessly working himself off. His legs were shaking the closer he got to his climax, his skin covered in goosebumps, and his whole body violently jerked as he came into his palm. With eyes pressed closed he stroked himself through his orgasm, the image of that dark elf lingering in front of his eyelids still. A thin layer of sweat covered his whole back as he tried to set his breathing right, but his heartbeat stayed the same rapid for long minutes.

The temptation to walk around the palace until he found the dark haired elf was slightly starting to vanish in his stomach, but the way his throat narrowed whenever he saw the cunning smile in his mind was unsettling. He knew he would face him eventually, whether on purpose or not, and he could not lose himself then. He had to hold on, and the first step towards that was to go and clean himself before visiting Galadriel. There was only a few minutes left until noon, and he most certainly couldn't show up in this condition.

Galadriel was understanding, but not this much.

While filling a bucket with water and cleaning himself gently, he wondered how Galadriel would receive the news had Thranduil told her about that encounter in the forest long centuries ago. Thranduil remembered clearly how Galadriel and Celeborn had always tried to introduce the prince to several elven girls. Even though many of them were the most beautiful elven girls that Lindon could offer, Thranduil couldn't find it in himself to be with someone just because of duty. He longed for love, but always found something to keep himself busy with instead. He had never seeked love, and, after a while, his friends stopped trying to force it on him.

Thranduil caught himself smiling at the thought of talking about that stranger to Galadriel. She would most certainly react the same way he imagined Aerithil reacting. Absolutely concerned, outraged that this could happen to a mighty prince in the forest, maybe a little bit disappointed that Thranduil had let himself. He didn't remember this as an unpleasant memory, though. That encounter was the closest thing to complete freedom, where the prince could forget where he came from. He was a simple elf then, fighting another elf and falling in love for a split second. It ended too soon, but Thranduil held it dear nevertheless. And that is why he chose not to tell anyone.

Because no one would have understood how he hated to be a prince sometimes.

The washing cloth in his hand stopped for a second and Thranduil realised he was standing like that for minutes. He was too deep in his thoughts, and he knew he had no time for that now. Even though the thought disturbed him still, he ignored it and finished cleaning himself with a straight expression on his face.

Galadriel's chamber was in the right wing of the palace, close to where the king himself was residing. It was a lazy hour when no one was walking the corridors and the people were mostly staying in the woods or in their rooms. Only the feast hall was buzzing with the preparations for the feast that night, a feast Gil-galad had ordered to take place because of the arrival of the Lady of Lórien. Thranduil had smiled at Lindir once the dark haired elf laid his eyes on him, and, to the biggest surprise of the prince, he smiled back. He was holding a long parchment, possibly listing the things that still had to be done, but he still had time to smile back at Thranduil and the blonde felt warmth spreading through his chest. Maybe it wasn't hard to find the common ground after all.

He passed the halls quickly once the realisation hit him that it was way past noon, and his steps grew swift as he walked down the corridors. He found Galadriel's chamber with ease, but once he raised his hand to knock on the door, he saw it was already open. A smile appeared on his face again.

His friend never ceased to amaze him. She was expecting him already.

Thranduil stepped into the chamber filled with the scent of spring flowers and bath oil slowly. The smell filled his lungs and he inhaled deeply, almost feeling like being lost in the embrace of his closest friend. Her hair smelled like this all the time, and whenever Thranduil buried his face in her neck, he felt the golden locks brushing against his face gently. And it was almost as perfect as being embraced by his mother.

The prince didn't find Galadriel at first, but once he turned his head in the direction of the massive bed in the middle of the room, there she was. Combing her hair with delicate movements, Thranduil had already known she was well aware of his presence. She wore a different white robe than when she arrived, but she was the same graceful and majestic as always. He sighed deeply, drawing her deep blue glance at him eventually. She smiled when she saw him.

"You are late."

Thranduil chuckled gently, clasping his hands behind his back as he approached slowly. Galadriel turned back to look at her hair, every single tress all but glowing in the light of the sun coming in the window.

"i was distracted," Thranduil responded, but Galadriel's face didn't change. The same soft smile played on her lips as she leaned forward to place the comb on her night-table.

"Were you?"

That knowing voice again, as if she was reading his mind. Thranduil swallowed hard, stopping not too far from the bed and eyeing the floor with his heart beating harder than how he would've liked it. He didn't know what to say to that, for it didn't matter. Lie he could not, and he already felt that questioning look on his face again, trying to solve him.

Galadriel stood and stepped closer, her sweet scent sending a warm shiver down on Thranduil's spine.

"You do not owe me an explanation, mellon nín," she shook her head gently, daring the prince to look at her from behind his long eyelashes. He felt like a child before being scolded, and he didn't understand why. "But I love you dearly, and I have to warn you before you do something reckless."

She walked past him, then, her steps silent against the floor. The bottom of her long white dress brushed the stones under her feet as she approached her mirror and sat on the chair in front of it. The table was full of essences and there was a carved box, perhaps for her jewellery. It looked like one Celeborn would make, and as soon as Thranduil turned to look at Galadriel in the mirror, he saw the smile on his own lips.

There was no reason to deny it anymore. He would only make a fool out of himself, and, even though he didn't understand how she figured it out so quickly, he knew he had nothing to hide from her. It was Galadriel after all, and he trusted her with his life.

"How do you know?" he couldn't help the question and folded his arms in front of his chest. She looked completely satisfied, but there was the slightest bit of worry in her eyes that Thranduil tried to ignore.

"You are not exactly the best in hiding what you feel," Galadriel said, opening the chest on her table and taking out a beautiful necklace. It was silver, breaking the arriving light into a million rays. There was a diamond-like, star shaped stone in the middle, and, against the fair skin of Galadriel, Thranduil could've never imagined a better or more suiting place for it. "He is in my escort, and he is hardly to be trusted."

The words pulled Thranduil back to reality, and he immediately raised his eyes from the pendant to look at the Lady of Lórien with furrowed eyebrows.

"You know him perhaps?" he asked, the amount of disbelief in his voice surprising even him.

"I have known him since the ancient times," she answered, staring at the prince in the mirror. Her face was straight and her voice low, as if she was warning him of a possible danger. He couldn't find it in himself to truly believe her, but he listened anyway. "He came with us from Valinor, fighting by the side of Fëanor and his sons. He is a good warrior, strong and older than you can imagine."

"This is not a reason to mistrust him," Thranduil shook his head.

"He hadn't shed innocent blood," she turned on her chair, looking straight into Thranduil's eyes this time. She looked seriously concerned, and Thranduil felt the urge to swallow. "He had rather let them die by someone else's hands than to kill them himself. Many admired him for it, but he is not to be trusted, Thranduil. There is something about him that no one can put their finger on. A darkness. And I don't want you to be the one who suffers from it."

Thranduil was listening almost in awe. He had seen that elf fighting and the prince knew the warrior beated him. But, in spite of all this, he could not imagine those delicate fingers actually killing someone, causing someone's death, taking away lives. And how right he was, for the dark elf truly didn't harm the innocent.

If it reached anything, it most certainly wasn't making Thranduil afraid. It only increased his heartbeat and sympathy towards him.

"Now I see, he is truly terrible," he noted with the slightest amount of irony, but it didn't touch Galadriel. She was sitting without a movement, eyeing Thranduil sharply.

"A warrior who denies the orders is not to be trusted, it doesn't matter why he does it."

"So if he has a conscience he is right away suspicious and a traitor?" Thranduil let out a short snort and spread his arms to both sides, staring at Galadriel with complete disbelief. What she said sounded completely mad and illogical, but it was still Galadriel and he knew he soon had had to stop. Somewhere deep inside he was both happy he told her about this and finally gained some information, but, on the other hand, he regretted it deeply. Now that she knew about this, it wasn't his secret anymore. Even if he knew she would not tell anyone, the way she was against something she did not know details of was disturbing, and Thranduil wished he hadn't ever opened his mouth.

"You know nothing of war," Galadriel stood, her voice louder than before and Thranduil automatically stepped back, his stomach dropping. "You know nothing of death or mercy! What he had done was not mercy! It was cowardice! He left children alive to cry over the corpses of their parents, just because he did not have the courage to end their lives! Instead, he waited. He waited until his father came and did what must have been done."

Thranduil had never heard Galadriel speaking like this, and the darkness in her eyes was completely new. She had always been calm and composed, and she managed to keep her Noldorin blood on leash most of the time. Now, though, what Thranduil had seen was not Galadriel. She was Nerwen, man-maiden, the name her mother gave her.

The prince wondered for a short second whether Celeborn had ever seen her like this, but he dismissed the thought once he saw how terrified Galadriel seemed to be after recognising herself. She sat back on her chair shakily, brushing her hair behind her shoulder with trembling hands. Apparently, it was new for her as well, not just for Thranduil.

"Forgive me, mellon nín," she murmured under her breath, staring into void space, as if she was far in her thoughts still. Thranduil stepped closer reluctantly, not being quite sure whether to approach her or leave her some privacy instead. "I did not mean to shout or speak of these things. These memories are dark and I am not proud of them."

He felt sorry for her as she sat there, her fingers laced in her lap. She looked broken all of a sudden, as if she was nothing but a victim of all these horrible things. Sometimes Thranduil forgot that he was the least experienced amongst the three of them, for everyone had seen battle but him. He was yearning to change it, but he knew he mustn't. Especially now that he saw how weak Galadriel seemed to be under the weight of the memories, he wished not to battle.

All he had wished was to kneel by the side of Galadriel and let her know he was there. And so he did.

"There is nothing to apologize for, Galadriel," he said while entwining their fingers and waiting until she looked down at him with her eternally soft expression. "You need not to think about it if you do not wish so. It is a gift we found so useful on the Isle of Balar, remember?"

The smile on her face was a response alone and Thranduil couldn't help the one that spread on his face too. Even though those were the years of exile, he remembered them pleasantly and it seemed that Galadriel wasn't any different. They grew real close there, just the three of them, and they could forget the destruction they had seen in Doriath together.

It seemed so far now, especially after they left. Sometimes Thranduil had still dreamed of being there with them, collecting pearls in the sea and caring about nothing. But then he woke and found himself alone in this huge palace, never understanding how their eternal life can pass so quickly. It wasn't fair, but he had learnt to accept it.

Eventually.

He came back from his thoughts once he felt the hand on Galadriel on his face, her soft fingers brushing against his cheek delicately. He leaned into the touch with a smile, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I don't want him to break your heart, so you must be careful with him, mellon nín. Promise me."

Thranduil was silent for a while, contemplating his possibilities. He knew he wouldn't be able to stay away from that elf, not for much longer, but Galadriel didn't ask him that. She just needed to know he would be careful, and Thranduil could promise that.

So he nodded. Even if he wasn't quite sure he could keep that promise completely.

It was up to the stranger, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRANSLATIONS:**  
>  Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo. - A star shines on the hour of our meeting.
> 
> So, here we go. This fic takes an awful lot more out of me to write than the previous one, since it is taking place in a completely different era and I need to make my research well every time. But I'm making a progress, slowly though, but I am getting there. ;)
> 
> I made Gil-galad a sister since Finduilas was his sister only in the theories where Orodreth was their father. Here, though, I use the Silmarillion as a base where Fingon was Gil-galad's father, and I'm going with that.
> 
> Also, I had to be careful with Galadriel, not to make her too OOC, but I think I managed to success. She was a warrior once, it is only fair if she loses her temper once or twice, especially with a stubborn little twat like Thranduil, hahahaha.
> 
> Thank you for the kudos so far, I love writing for you guys. ;)


	3. Senses

Elvish senses were really delicate gifts that the Firstborn were given by Eru Ilúvatar himself. It provided them the sight of the approaching danger, the sound of steps that were not yet made, the burning sensation of a glance that had not yet been cast on someone's skin. It was a rare power that no other kin possessed, and one that demanded long years of practice to bring to perfection. It was working best for those in a great age with great experience, having spent long aeons on Arda.

Perhaps it explained why an elf with such little knowledge on the world did not wake to the curious gaze of someone, standing by mere feet from his bed. He was wearing dark, lurking in the shadows and watching, waiting. He stayed silent on purpose, not wishing to wake the blond elf sleeping so soundly on the bed, his eyelashes fluttering ever so slightly with every breath he took. He was beautiful and the sight of him was mesmerizing, and the stranger found himself smiling more from the pleasure of watching than from the plan he held in his mind. Came he had not to simply stand by. Sooner or later, the royal prince would wake and recognise him, but he cherished every moment until then.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Thranduil's dreams faded away and he was left with the numbing aftermath of the colourful movements in his mind. He remembered not of what he saw and lived through this time in his dreams, but he guessed it was for the best. Had he remembered, it would have only made him yearn for a chance to truly live them and knowing he could not was too painful.

He opened his eyes then, completely unprepared for the crystalline eyes that bore into his own, searching and absolutely pleased. He sat up so violently he hurt his wrist but he did not care. The prince could not decide whether he was started, happy or upset, maybe all of the above, but he knew one thing.

His blood was roaring in his veins, and he was glad the bedspread covered him. He was sure his whole body was as red as a lobster.

"What in the name of the Valar are you doing here?"

Thranduil found himself pulling the sheets around him more closely, almost protectively, but it didn't hide the trembling in his voice. He tried to convince himself that it was only because of the sleepiness, but he wasn't quite sure that the stranger was convinced as well.

It was completely ridiculous, and Thranduil couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. Whether to stay in bed and hide until the other was gone or jump to his feet, run towards him and pin him against the wall with his own body. He wanted to shake his head, to dismiss these absurd thoughts and act like the prince he was meant to be, but he found it in himself not. This dark elf was haunting him, taunting him and charming him, and he didn't even know his name. It felt like a spell had been cast on him, crawling under his skin and poisoning him, never leaving him alone.

He was there in the last centuries, all along. Now he was back to haunt him for even longer.

"I was looking for my room but I think I got lost," the one with the black hair answered simply, and Thranduil saw only now that even the hood he wore was black, as black as the night sky outside.

He shifted on his bed uncomfortably, tearing his eyes from the stranger only for the fraction of a second before staring up at him again.

"Yes, watching me sleep and creeping in the shadows only confirms that," Thranduil managed to answer finally, and, even though the other did not answer, the prince could see his bright smile. "What do you find so amusing, stranger?"

The intruder stepped forward then, slowly as if he was walking on shifting sand, and he raised his arms to push back the hood that was hiding most of his face. Only his lips, those perfect lips were visible, along with the eyes that seemed more gray than blue now, but once the cloth fell back and light fell upon the features, Thranduil found himself in need of air. He stopped breathing for even a minute, blinking and trying to fight the blood that was filling his cheeks. After all, he was not a wee elfling anymore. He looked away, pressing his lips together ever so slightly, but after realising that his reaction was odd, he regained his composure and met those eyes again.

His whole appearance was different than the last time Thranduil had seen him. His features were sharper, the lines by his eyes numerous and between his brows worried, his gaze sadder and his shoulders wider. He had lost most of the length of his hair as well, it now only reaching the lower part of his shoulder instead of his waist. It was an unusual sight for an elf, wavy locks instead of straight, long ones, and he knew it would have been for the best to never mention it.

He was dazed, though, and his lips were moving faster than his mind.

"Your hair is shorter than the last time," he said, almost wondering, but the ache in the blue eyes was immediate and he regretted speaking right away. An apology was already on his lips, but the other spoke before him.

"I do not recall meeting you before, prince of the Woodland Realm." Confusion was written all over that unfathomable face, and Thranduil forgot all about the amends he was trying to make. His jaw hung open, and he eyed the stranger with naked shock.

Disappointment is like a poisonous dagger. Is it not pushed straight until the core of the heart, the pain elongates and death has no mercy.

"Why are you here, then?"

His own voice cut sharply like an accusation, and it hit even Thranduil himself as a punch in the chest. He felt anger, not towards the stranger but towards himself. Hoping after so many lifetimes that the other would remember him had they ever met again... It was foolish, and he was nothing but a child in his heart to entertain such thoughts.

His breathing grew heavy as the seconds passed but the stranger didn't answer. He seemed to consider the response for a long time, his face softer than before. He must have seen the disappointment in Thranduil's eyes, for the prince wore his heart on his sleeve as his mother had always reminded him. It did not touch the warrior so deeply, though, for the smile reappeared on his face, moving Thranduil's insides against his will.

"You are strange, sleeping with your eyes closed, prince," he said, moving one step closer. He brought the smell of the night trees and green leaves with him, a cold breeze that made the hair on Thranduil's neck stand on edge. "What do you see when you close them? Do you like what you see or it haunts you? I have always wondered."

"Why would you care?" Thranduil all but spat, interrupting roughly. He knew not where this disdain came from, but he guessed it was the only way of self-defence he knew. Best defence is offence, after all.

The stranger fell silent then, not speaking for quite a while, only watching. Thranduil avoided his gaze, staring right down at his lap like he was waiting for something. It must have been a strange sight, the prince thought. Had anyone looked at them from the outside, they would have seen ice and fire in the same room. Thranduil felt like a child next to that strong warrior, thinking of never hoping for anything again in the face of chagrin. He swore on this everytime he could not see his wish granted, and this time it wasn't any different either.

He truly didn't understand the reason behind the stranger's visit, though, but he decided he would not ask once more. If it meant waiting in silence until he left the prince's room, then so be it.

"If you allow me to be honest with you, I will leave you alone at once," the dark haired elf said silently, his voice barely a murmur in the quietness of the room. The way he spoke was soothing, placating, comforting even, and Thranduil glanced up at him from behind his lashes. The stranger's eyes showed the same kindness as his voice, and Thranduil nodded ever so slightly. He was gifted with a thankful smile, and the other opened his mouth to talk. "I am no member of the Lady Galadriel's escort. I came to Lindon to look for someone who could help me, and it was the swiftest way."

Thranduil creased his eyebrows, looking straight into the eyes of the elf in front of him. He was still clutching onto the sheets around him, but not as hard as in the beginning.

"Helping you in what?" the blond elf asked carefully, not being quite sure on what to expect as an answer.

"Someone I love dearly was kidnapped by an orc scout," the stranger answered, his voice suddenly dripping heavily from guilt and concern. Thranduil swallowed hard and did not interrupt. "I was trying to look for her, but she had most likely been taken to the East, over the mountains. I must find her soon, for the chance of her being alive is slimmer with every second. They might find her... useful for only a short amount of time."

The son of Oropher stared for a while, processing the words and trying to find the hidden meaning behind them. He had many questions, but he knew he could not ask them. Maybe in fear of not hearing the answer he wished to receive, he did not know, but he was sure to think deeply before speaking without heed.

He did not understand this elf. He was confusing, completely different from everything Thranduil had ever known and he tried to solve him so hard, ending up without any results. If he had truly lost his beloved why would he come to Lindon, especially to Thranduil? Why wouldn't he go to the king himself who was known of his sympathy even in the farthest parts of Middle-earth? Thranduil did not know, but he guessed he would not understand until he asked.

And so he did.

"Why me?"

It was the only question he allowed himself to ask, and it seemingly didn't catch the elf off-guard. For the one in the black clothes smiled gently, taking another step closer. He brought a new wave of the scent of summer nights, and Thranduil found himself letting go of the sheets. He ignored it, but it happened anyway.

"Because I lied."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow, absolutely not expecting this answer. He said so many things, he could have lied about anything. The prince did not feel threatened, though, and he just watched with narrowed eyes.

"About what?"

"About not remembering you."

The smile was so self-satisfied that it turned Thranduil's stomach into a small knot, growing his heartbeat rapid. The stranger was playing games, and the prince was falling into the traps everytime. He just realised how little he truly knew of people and their ways, and he felt his face warming up again. Not so much from shame as from the memories, but the dark haired elf didn't have to know that.

He probably did, but Thranduil didn't want to think of that.

"You fought well, and I thought it could be useful on this journey. There are orcs to kill, after all," he said casually, as if the said journey was not to save someone close to him. As if it was an ordinary hunting trip.

Thranduil did not mean to give his assistance so easily, though, so after long moments of expectant silence, Thranduil cleared his throat and looked up with his most diplomatical facial expression.

"I am a prince, and I cannot disappear from the court just like that," he started, voice low and completely unusual, even for his own ears. "I will think about it more thoroughly when it is a more decent hour and I will give my answer then."

It was obvious how the stranger wanted to object, to remind Thranduil of the urgency of the matter, but Thranduil sent him a pointed look and it silenced him immediately. It seemed he wasn't used to this, to be ordered, even though he was a soldier. He seemed to be his own lord, and there was no one who could have told him what to do.

Only who to kill. And looking upon him, Thranduil remembered the things Galadriel said. That this warrior had never shed innocent blood. And suddenly, Thranduil could see that the words were true, and he had to hold back a smile so he wouldn't break his stoic expression.

The dark haired elf stood there for a few more moments before backing away one step towards the door, then he turned and did not stop until the prince addressed him again.

"You should really tell me your name already, warrior," he said, trying to hold his gaze at one point on that fine back, but he could not stop his eyes from wandering. His fingertips were itching for a touch, but he fisted them and blinked with force. "I can assure you it is not the way I will remember you now."

Thranduil could all but hear the smile, and the ghost of a supressed laughter echoed through his mind. His lips parted ever so slightly as the stranger turned his head, pulling the hood up again and hiding his face.

And then the prince not only heard the smile but saw it, too.

"Call me Azadeth."

 

"Let me help you."

Thranduil was aimlessly walking the main hall when he saw Lindir coming out of the library with an abundance of parchments. Somehow he managed to hit a column on his way, though, and he dropped most of them, the reels falling all over the floor. It was a simple occasion to finally get into talking to him, to talk to anybody after long years of solitude, and, even though Galadriel was waiting for him to walk the gardens together, Thranduil found himself kneeling by the side of Lindir and helping him.

The dark haired elf looked upon Thranduil with wonder while the prince picked up the reels and held them in his arms, then he eventually met Lindir's eyes and gave him a small smile. It was perhaps the most tensed moment in his life, but he just swallowed his nervousness.

They soon straightened and looked at each other like that, Lindir at least a head smaller than the prince. Thranduil felt like a giant, and it was unusual. He liked it, nevertheless.

"T-Thank you, Your Highness," Lindir stuttered softly, blinking at Thranduil with huge eyes. The prince felt funny, not quite knowing what to say or how to continue, but he thought if he could gather enough courage to actually come up to him he would not let the chance float away.

"Just Thranduil. Where are you taking these?" Thranduil nodded towards the reels in his arms, then looked down at the ones that Lindir held.

There were several maps, notes, but they were all really old, and there was many of them. His first thought was a research, for he himself held many of these back in Doriath when he studied with Celeborn in the libraries. They held the records of many High Elves from the ancient times, from ages before the Sun and the Moon. For many in Doriath, and even in Lindon, it was only the past. For Thranduil, it was history.

"To the royal chamber. For the king," the younger one answered after a short hesitation, still staring at Thranduil with awe. For once, the son of Oropher wasn't the one feeling smaller and completely irrelevant, as he had always felt next to Galadriel or Celeborn, or even his own mother. It didn't matter who he was now, for Lindir wasn't less than him in anything.

Maybe in height, but it only made Thranduil smile more.

"I will help you," he stepped forward towards the gate of the hall, lingering a little bit until Lindir finally managed to regain his composure and join him.

Thranduil had always imagined it would be more awkward to begin a conversation with someone he had never talked to before. He found himself at ease, though, and he enjoyed himself way more than he expected. Only Lindir seemed to be a little shy just yet, but Thranduil was already thinking about how to melt the ice between them.

Absentmindedly, the memory of Thingol came into his thoughts who was the first to introduce Thranduil to the younger elves of Menegroth. Celeborn was amongst them, after all, he was prince of Doriath. The son of Oropher felt way too awkward to even utter a word, and he let himself silently be led to the table where the golden haired prince sat. They became friends on that very day, and they seldom parted in the coming decades. Thranduil thanked Thingol for that ever since, although, he had never had chance to tell these words to him.

He realised he wandered too far in his mind and silence was still thick around them as they walked. Lindir held his eyes on the marble floor, careful not to stumble and drop the parchments again, but his lips were moving as if he wanted to say something. Thranduil's mouth was moving quicker than his mind, though, and he started speaking.

"Have you eve-"

"I have always wo-"

They spoke at the very same moment, like it was planned this way. Thranduil felt surprise washing over him at first, looking down at the elf with complete wonder. Lindir had done the same, his lips still parted, but once he started laughing, Thranduil followed closely behind. It had never happened to him before, for no one ever was as keen as him to ask something from him. Warmth filled his chest as he laughed, and when they stopped, they started taking the stairs in front of them.

"I insist you ask what you wanted," the prince said, minding his steps on the stairs in his long robe. It was easy to slip on the silky material, and he didn't wish to fall. "I was the one to rudely interrupt."

Lindir just blushed a little, carefully smiling at Thranduil's words. "I wish you to know that I do not think that, but, as far as I can tell, arguing with a prince is completely useless."

Thranduil grinned like a kid, a low chuckle escaping his lips. He liked Lindir more and more by every second, the majordomo obviously knowing his way amongst the royalty well already. It was a great feeling, to talk to someone like him, but he never interrupted again.

"I have always wondered on something but never dared to ask," Lindir started silently, and once they turned to a corridor, the light of the sunshine vanished from the walls and only the torches gave way to the chamber of Gil-galad. Thranduil kept silent and waited for the other to continue. "I have met many elves who used to dwell in Doriath, but none of them had ever spoken to Lúthien, the Beautiful."

Thranduil's eyebrows rose high at the mention of Thingol's beloved daughter, and the sight of the girl dancing and singing on the green hills had immediately been drawn to his mind. Her voice echoed in his ears, both her singing and her wise words. Despite her death of long centuries ago, he still remembered her clearly and he would never forget her, that he knew for certain.

"Have you ever talked to her?"

Lindir's quiet question was almost surprising to the prince, for he was deep in his thoughts. He turned his head to look at the dark haired elf, his deep eyes hoping and expectant, and it was the moment when Thranduil realised that they were standing in one place for a while now. He looked down at the parchments, then back to Lindir and a sad half-smile appeared on his face.

"Yes, I have," Thranduil nodded, and the light rekindled in Lindir's eyes immediately. "She was exceptional. Kind, generous, beautiful... And loving, the utmost. She gave a piece of her heart to everyone, and she spoke ill of none. She was gentle like her mother and she held the fire of her father in her heart."

Light silence fell upon them as Lindir waited and Thranduil tried to gather his thoughts. It was hard to find the right words, especially because there was only good to say about Lúthien. She reminded him of Galadriel sometimes, even though the daughter of Finarfin was looking for the company of Melian more than for anyone else's in the beginning, after arriving in Doriath. But, then again, Beren had soon came and Lúthien was gone. No one had known much of her afterwards, and the winter that lingered in Menegroth was weighing on everyone heavily.

Right until the Battle of the Thousand Caves took place. For then, everything had changed, and there was no reason to sing or dance anymore.

"You know, my name means 'singer', and I confess, I do sing, quite often," Lindir spoke, waking Thranduil from his thoughts once more. The dark haired elf was moving again, and Thranduil caught up with him with long steps in front of the chamber of the king. The guards opened the doors for them so they could enter, and Lindir led the prince swiftly to the table of Gil-galad. The king was nowhere to be seen, but Thranduil was expecting that. "I write songs and play many instruments. The tales of the voice of Lúthien had always moved me greatly, but to hear about her greatness from someone who had actually known her... It is something brand new."

His smile was as bright as any star on the night sky, and Thranduil found himself completely dumbfounded. This elf was so different from everything he had ever seen and ever thought he would be, and he stood there unmoving for a while before realising that Lindir had already left the room. He didn't even have time to take in his surroundings properly (he hadn't yet visited the king's chamber before), for the guards' expecting gazes were already on him.

He hurried after Lindir swiftly, reaching him in the middle of the corridor, making his way downstairs again.

"You should sing for me one day," Thranduil said once he caught up with him, rendering Lindir motionless immediately. His dark eyes were huge and surprise was written all over his face, making Thranduil smile softly. "Which is your favourite instrument?"

Lindir didn't think much to find the answer, it was more the shock that delayed his response.

"It would be the harp, I guess," he blinked, and Thranduil's face lit up.

"The harp is my mother's favourite as well. Come to my chamber tonight, after dinner, and play for her if you don't mind," he laid a hand on Lindir's shoulder, a bold movement he did not see coming at all. The younger elf was just as surprised, but he didn't move away so Thranduil kept his hand there firmly. "She will enjoy it greatly, I am sure."

It seemed as if all blood from Lindir's body moved to his head all of a sudden, and he shifted from one leg to another awkwardly. Thranduil could tell immediately that the dark haired elf wasn't used to invitations to perform, and there was a great chance he had never played anything in front of others. Which was completely fine, and it was finally time to change that.

And Thranduil would have been damned to miss that chance.

"I really don't know, my Lord," Lindir breathed heavily, looking like he was about to faint. "I am nothing of skill compared to those who play every day for His Majesty..."

Thranduil couldn't hold back the chuckle anymore, drawing Lindir's eyes back to him right away. They were still full of wonder, as if the prince had just offered him the Moon itself.

"I do not wish to hear your excuses, Lindir. You are coming to my chamber tonight, and that is it."

The younger elf swallowed hard, his face reddening even more, but he nodded and kept his eyes glued to Thranduil's chest. The prince could not tell when was the last time he felt such excitement for something - probably during his encounter with Azadeth last night. The mere thought of the elf planted a warm knot in his stomach, but he dismissed it and focused on Lindir instead, the singer still standing, motionless.

"Do not worry," he finally withdrew his hand from Lindir's shoulder, and the elf seemed to grow at least ten inches once the weight of that hand disappeared. "My mother appreciates everyone who has the slightest talent in any instrument. I cannot say I sing or play the harp, but she will like me more once I introduce your skill to her."

That remark finally made Lindir smile, and they eyed each other with amusement for long moments before the younger elf murmured a promise to be there tonight and bowed to the prince. He disappeared on the corner as swift as lightning, looking back once more to give a last smile to Thranduil.

 _I shall tell nana about this at dinner, then_ , he thought with absolute satisfaction, his feet already moving to the far end of the corridor. Galadriel was waiting, and, as he passed the door of the king again and with that the guards, he gave them a polite smile. He felt like embracing the world in his arms and twirling around until he got dizzy. Maybe it wasn't that hard to befriend someone, and maybe it was simply the lack of wish for company that held him from conversations with anyone of his kind. Loneliness was an easier companion, always following and always listening. Just like a shadow.

Now it seemed it wasn't enough anyway.

He was mere feet away from the door of the Lady of Lórien when he heard a noise from the end of the corridor. It sounded like a helmet falling to the stone ground, but when he turned to see he saw nothing. Literally, nothing. For the guards were gone now as well, and it surprised the prince but didn't shock him. It took him only a few moments to eye the empty corridor behind him before he turned back, but he was nearly started to death as he laid his eyes on Azadeth in front of him.

Because out of thin air, the warrior appeared and grabbed his arm to pull him into an offset on the corridor.

Thranduil soon found himself being pressed against the wall, even though there was plenty of room on the smaller corridor they were standing. Azadeth's palm was leaning to the curve of the wall above Thranduil's shoulder while the other was lazily on his hip, completely cornering the prince who hadn't even known what was happening. Everything took place too suddenly, and he had to blink a few times until he processed everything.

The first thing he realised was the bright blue eyes boring into his own, and he felt his lips parting only slightly at the sight. They held every colour Thranduil had ever known, and it was something that was completely worth to be pressed against the wall for.

"Making plans for tonight?" Azadeth asked, his voice almost knowing, and Thranduil decided he could not act like a wee elfling. Not this time. He had the blood of a prince, after all, even though he wasn't born to be one. He chose to not let his emotions show on his face so easily this time and he joined the game instead.

"If you seek to be invited, I am sorry to inform you that-"

"Save it," the warrior downright grinned now, shaking his head. Thranduil would have liked to open his mouth and give voice to how rude Azadeth was for interrupting a prince, but he knew way too well that, after this, the dark haired elf wouldn't care. Or he would simply cut him off again, there were plenty of options to choose from. Therefore, he stayed silent and glared at Azadeth until he stopped grinning. "Alright, prince. Tell me, did you make up your mind?"

Thranduil stared for a while, like he didn't even believe what the warrior was asking of him, but, after even a minute of silence, he snorted so loudly it all but echoed through the corridor.

"Are you serious?" he asked, his voice an octave higher than usually. Azadeth's eyes were full of confusion, but he didn't speak. "You just smashed me against a wall then you offended me, and now you expect me to even consider saying yes?"

"Oh, if my closeness bothers you, Your Highness," Azadeth smiled sharply, bowing deep in front of Thranduil as he stepped back, leaving the prince some space. Thranduil indeed felt slightly better now, even though a part of him missed that closeness. He ignored that part, however, and tried to focus on keeping his composure. "If this and an apology for my shameless behaviour is enough for you to change your mind, then I ask for your forgiveness, my prince. I would never wish to offend you."

Thranduil eyed him for a while, not quite knowing whether to laugh or just leave him. Obviously, there was no sign of regret in his voice, nor on his face, but the blonde elf didn't expect anything less. He was mostly amused, and he had to give it to Azadeth, Thranduil would have never been able to imagine being sad next to him. He was so odd, this alone was a reason to feel better about the world.

He would have liked to know how far Azadeth would be willing to go just to make Thranduil say yes, but he didn't have time to play games and he wasn't that manipulative. Maybe on another day, for what he was about to say was about to allow them plenty of time to spend together. He would have had another occasion, if everything went by the plan.

He most certainly hoped they would.

"You lied into my face, but I am not you, so I shall be honest with you," Thranduil started, wiping the sneer off Azadeth's face. Serious silence fell upon them as they eyed each other, and Thranduil kept scratching the wall behind him with one finger, slowly and soundlessly, just to keep himself busy with something while thinking up the best words. "I know not whether I can help you or not. It is beyond my range to allow such things to myself."

Azadeth's face fell, but the disappointment in his eyes vanished as swiftly as it came. Thranduil could do nothing but to keep staring, his heartbeat gradually growing quick in his ribcage. The warrior's face was completely unreadable, and he swallowed hard before speaking.

"I leave Lindon tonight," Azadeth said, his voice barely a murmur. Every low word resonated inside Thranduil, and he stopped scratching the wall. He was holding onto it instead, safely behind his back where no one could see it. "I can wait only until midnight. If you do not come by then, I must go without you."

Thranduil's heart was hammering rapidly by now, trying to hold back his smile. He indeed didn't have the permission to leave the castle yet, but he knew whatever the result of tonight would be, he would leave Lindon in the end. He just wanted to see if he could trust Azadeth.

So far he wasn't disappointed.

"Then I hope you will find your beloved in time, son of..."

"Aradreth," Azadeth finished the sentence without a blink, his facial expression still the same the longer he stared at Thranduil. There was worry on his face that the prince couldn't place, and he suddenly seemed alert. Was it because he was sure Thranduil would come, or was it because of something else? The blonde elf could not tell.

All he could do was to watch Azadeth turn around and leave, and Thranduil smiled.

It was time to wait.

  
Feasts were all the same, after a certain amount of time. While one is in exile, lacking the simple comfort of a bed or a proper bathing tub, a feast seems magnificent and out of reach. It is merely in one's dream to ever eat from that soft lembas again, to ever feel wine on their tongue. It almost seems ethereal to think about so much food, so many people that you care for, so much laughter and peace around the table.

But feasts are overrated, and Thranduil soon learned it in Lindon. There must be a feast to celebrate everything, and occasions to celebrate happen way too often for that. He came to the conclusion that there should be only one feast every year, like a birthday, so it wouldn't be dull. Had there been more birthdays, one would lose interest in them as well, after all.

Now, though, as half of the royal High Elves of Middle-earth were sitting around one grandiose table, passing Dorwinion wine around in fine cups and chattering about politics silently, Thranduil found it not in himself to enjoy the night even the slightest. The closer midnight drew, the bigger the nervous knot grew in his stomach and he kept sipping from his wine carefully. He remembered the words of the king, warning him to drink with caution, and he did.

Just yet.

He rested his glance upon everyone around him. Some he knew, some he didn't. Some dwelt in Lindon and some didn't; amongst the latter was the Lady Galadriel who had been sitting in front of Thranduil. She was silent as if something had bothered her, but if it was so, she spoke of it naught. Thranduil often found her eyeing him, but he just smiled and turned away.

His mother sat by the side of Gil-galad, the king constantly offering her his attention. There was barely a moment when they weren't leaning to each other, sharing murmured conversations, and Thranduil hid a smile behind another sip of wine. He wondered if Aerithil had known about the king's feelings for her. It was obvious to everyone else, but she didn't seem to know, or just didn't mind. Either way, it didn't upset Thranduil and he moved to keep watching the company with a sigh.

A line of unknown elves. Some came with Galadriel, others were sent by the Lord Elrond of Rivendell, and the rest Thranduil had never seen before. He missed the feasts of Menegroth where people laughed and were overjoyed to spend time with the ones they loved, but now it was completely different. Everyone feared the coming of the shadows, even though Thranduil saw none of it.

He just heard. From everyone.

_I honestly trust you are not making foolish decisions, mellon nín._

The sudden voice in his mind nearly started him, but he immediately turned his head to Galadriel and looked at her with wonder. He understood not what the other meant, or, at least that was what he wished her to see. Deep inside he knew well that Galadriel had known of things that hadn't even happened yet but were in the making. She knew him better than his own mother, and hide the truth from her he could not.

The dark blue gaze of her lingered on him for long moments, trying to read his mind and solve his thoughts but Thranduil did not speak, nor did he think. He gently raised his serviette to the corner of his mouth, still tasting the irony sweet flavour of the wine in his mouth. He then turned to his mother, looking upon her with a smile.

"Mother," he started gently, using the first occasion during the whole evening that he wasn't forced to interrupt her conversation with Gil-galad. Aerithil immediately looked at him, a loving motherly smile appearing on her face.

"Talk, iôn nín."

"I had the luck to learn that someone in the palace who is the most unlikely to do so, owns the talent of playing the harp and singing," Thranduil said, remembering the reddened cheeks of Lindir as he talked about the inspiration Lúthien had always meant him. The prince only wished he would someday find such inspiration and find out how it feels to draw your power from someone so great. For Lúthien Tinúviel was indeed great, and no one would have dared to oppose it. "It is no other than your beloved majordomo, Your Majesty."

The joy on Aerithil's face was almost tangible in the air, but so was the shock of Gil-galad. He immediately mirrored the earlier movements of Thranduil by reaching for his napkin and wiping his mouth, his eyes wide as moons. Thranduil smiled with such pride as if he had just won a battle, and he dared say all eyes in the room were on him in that moment.

"Lindir plays the harp?" Gil-galad asked, his voice still full of disbelief, but pleasure indeed shone in his eyes.

"Yes, he does. For you, mother, and for anyone who wishes to join us in my chamber, he shall play on his harp tonight," he added, bowing his head ever so slightly at the bright smile of his mother. Aerithil was most definitely infinitely happy whenever someone played for her, and Thranduil knew that exactly. Guilt tugged at his soul for this, though, that he used Lindir to soften his mother's heart to make her let him go, but he knew he would have time to deal with that later.

Now he had to make sure the performance would be a success. That was all he needed.

"How nice to learn these wonderful news in time of such darkness."

It was the first time perhaps that Galadriel had spoken, and Thranduil turned to her. Her smile seemed honest, but it didn't reach her eyes and Thranduil felt his throat narrowing at the sight.

"Such is the nature of evil, indeed," Gil-galad sighed, raising his cup to his lips again. "In time all foul things come forth."

But Thranduil didn't pay attention, not anymore. For Galadriel was reading him like an open book. Dangerously easily. And he didn't like it.

The night passed swifter afterwards, and the Moon was high at its peak on the sky. The serving of dinner soon finished and some of the company retreated to their rooms for a rest. Others, though, and there was a good number of them, followed Thranduil to his chamber where, to the prince's greatest surprise, Lindir was already preparing for the song. He was even redder in the face when he laid eyes upon the huge crowd behind Thranduil than when he made his confession about his love of music, and the son of Oropher laughed.

"Hiding in the shadows, that is something my majordomo can, although shouldn't do," Gil-galad lay a hand on Lindir's shoulder, the younger elf staring strictly at his feet with a shy smile. "Lindir, son of Hindir, I have not known that your father was good with the harp."

"It is because he wasn't," Lindir shook his head, glancing up at the king carefully. He looked like a child next to the huge elf, Gil-galad towering over him like a mountain. Thranduil leaned against the wall with arms folded in front of his chest, eyeing them with a smile. "It came from my mother. Although, my skills are far from hers."

"Let the king decide that, my dear," Aerithil sat on the edge of the bed, then, smiling kindly at Lindir who couldn't have possibly gotten any redder than that now. "You have slender fingers as I see, and your harp shines in the candlelight. Your neck and lips are made for a singer. I am not afraid of you failing tonight. Show us your talent, Lindir."

The people of the room moved more to the inside then, leaving only Thranduil standing by the open door. He was eyeing the Moon outside the window nervously, for he was sure time passed more quickly than he intended. It must have been dangerously close to midnight already, and Lindir hadn't even started the performance yet. The singer was ready to play, though, and he addressed one last kind smile towards Thranduil before he started.

And then the voice returned in the prince's head, and he tensed.

He didn't have to look, he knew Galadriel was standing right next to him.

_Don't go, Thranduil._

Lindir's harp and his voice filled the room around them, the empty space rich with a warm song about love. Thranduil felt captivated, even though he heard the music only as if it came from the other end of a long cave. It echoed through his mind, hiding behind the words of Galadriel, and he found himself unmoving whenever he wished to look at her. He had his eyes on Lindir instead, watching the fingers move on the strings with skill.

_There are no things left here to hold me back._

He knew it was a lie, but he ignored it. He also knew what Galadriel wanted to reach, what they all wanted him to do. To act like a prince, to take responsibility and think before acting. But he refused to do so, and there was no one who could have changed his mind.

_You cannot trust Azadeth. He leads you into your doom._

Thranduil found himself smiling, keeping his eye on the sweating brow of Lindir. He was forgetting about the world around him, and Thranduil wanted to know what it feels like. He had nothing to turn off his mind with, and it overwhelmed him, planting the seeds of frustration in his chest over and over again.

He didn't want to stay. And if it was written to walk into his doom now, it would happen anyway.

_Then it doesn't make a difference whether I go or stay._

By the time the song ended, Galadriel was gone and Lindir bowed. The audition clapped with awe, and Aerithil laughed, laughed like Thranduil hadn't seen her laughing before. She was the most beautiful these times, leaving the burdens of the world, the miss of Oropher behind. She was carefree and was already begging for another song, and Lindir laughed proudly, kissing the top of her hand with respect at the praising words.

Thranduil smiled but it was a different smile this time. For he knew he could never be so selfish as to ruin his mother's happiness. She was the woman he loved the most in the world, and, even though he tried to make her happy for his own purposes, he didn't have the heart to take it away now. To take it away on any day. She sacrificed too much already. Way too much.

It will hurt her to realise he is gone. But she wasn't meant to hurt today.

She could be happy for a bit longer.

"Our prince seems tired after such a long day," Gil-galad spoke and Thranduil looked up at him as if he woke from a dream. Everyone was looking at him again, waiting for some kind of reaction, but he was way too dumbfounded to say anything. Aerithil was the one to save him in the awkward situation, and she stood with another chuckle, walking up to her son and cupping his face gently with her hand.

"Let's retire to the main hall. I shall not endure my son exhaust himself while we enjoy Lindir's talent, but I would also hate to go to bed without one more song," she smiled brightly and the people laughed, some of them already moving out of the room. Thranduil could hear them discussing the grace of Aerithil, the skill of Lindir and the beauty of his voice, but his mother didn't join them just yet. Instead, she was standing in front of Thranduil, now holding his face with both hands.

She was only a few inches smaller than him, but it was enough so she would have to look up at him, her fingers caressing his cheek on a way only a mother can touch her son. And Thranduil leaned into the warm palm, somewhere deep inside fearing that it would be the last time to do so.

"You seem really wearied, aerlinn nín," she murmured, her voice low and dripping with worry. Thranduil closed his eyes for a second, resisting the urge to place his own hands over his mother's and squeeze them lightly, to enjoy the touch just a little bit closer, a little bit longer. "Do you wish me to stay here and draw you a bath?"

"There is no need for that, nana," Thranduil shook his head ever so slightly, forcing a smile onto his lips and letting Aerithil's hands slip onto his chest. They lingered there, her right hand exactly above his heart, and he was glad it wasn't hammering too fast now. It was only a matter of minutes until it would. "You go and enjoy Lindir's songs. I will just go and lie down."

Although the worry didn't disappear from her face, she nodded anyway and smiled weakly at her son. She then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Thranduil's face before pulling away, keeping her eyes at him at all times.

Thranduil watched her slowly walking out of the room where Gil-galad was waiting for her on the doorstep. He was smiling at Thranduil too, bidding him goodnight with only one nod until they both disappeared behind the closed door.

Then, Thranduil was alone.

And ready to escape.

Escaping from a guarded palace wasn't easy, but Thranduil had plenty of time over the afternoon to think about a way. Under his bed was everything he needed on his trip, and the excitement already thickened his blood with adrenaline. He had the elven rope knotted to the leg of the bed already, and his horse was waiting for him in the stables. Even though he had no idea where Azadeth was waiting for him, given it was past midnight, he was truly hoping the warrior was not gone yet.

And if he is still there indeed, that would mean one thing surely.

That Thranduil was someone worth waiting for.

He dressed into more comfortable clothes within a second, placing his long white robe in the dresser with a few easy moves. He then put on his dark brown cloak and, adding the hoodie and taking his bag onto his back, he took the rope and started climbing out of the open window.

The late summer winds were brushing against his face as he descended, lower and lower with every careful step. It wasn't his first time doing this, but it was his first time without anyone knowing. With Celeborn he had done it many times back in Doriath, climbing from tree to tree in the underground palace of Menegroth. Greenwood was built in the same design, and that was one of the few things why Thranduil liked spending his time there once in a while.

Because he could pretend he was escaping into unknown worlds while he was doing nothing else than descending from his room to the kitchens.

The snow white walls of Lindon weren't so high, though, and he soon found his feet touching the sweet green grass on the ground. He smiled with anticipation, keeping his ear open to the sound of his horse. Alagos he was named, for he could run like a storm, and no one could control him besides Thranduil. He was a gift for the prince on one occasion from Gil-galad himself, wishing him luck on riding him. After the first time he threw the prince off his back, Thranduil named him Alagos and the name stuck ever since. He could feel Thranduil coming from a very great distance already, and the prince did hear him whinnying in the stables indeed.

The blond elf knew he didn't have much time now, and he pulled at the rope firmly. It fell like it had never even been knotted, and Thranduil was glad he chose the elven rope. It was a rare gift amongst his kin, and he happened to have some.

 _Maybe this escape was foretold by destiny as well,_ Thranduil thought while he set his cloak right and hid the rope in his bag, already running to fetch his horse. Alagos grew restless from the waiting, but once Thranduil was in his sight he silenced and let the elf unbind him from the others. He placed the bag on the horse's side, and he blessed the Valar that he was cautious and saddled Alagos before dinner. Now all he had to do was to mount and leave for the forest as quickly as he could.

And he did just that, even though on the edge of the forest he turned back once more to look upon the palace and he smiled. He felt heaviness growing around his heart, in fear of what his mother might think when she looks upon the empty bed and the open window, but he knew he couldn't afford such thoughts now.

He had to leave, and he had to be swift. Otherwise, the whole planning would crumble and he could go nowhere.

No one could have described the feeling that filled Thranduil as he was riding in the woods without looking back even once. He cared not for the speed, for the winds blowing back his hood and grabbing his long hair. He held the reins with firm fingers, a great smile spread on his lips as he rode and he was itching with the urge to yell in the night now that no one would have heard him. These were roads where no one stood guard, where no patrol was walking at night, and something drew him ahead, something held him captive and he never wanted to release this feeling. He never wanted to stop, he never wanted to let go.

He wanted to stay free forever. And it was the moment he realised it was his way to turn off his mind, the same thing that happened to Lindir whenever he played his harp. He felt the same passion burning a hole on his soul and melting it together again, and he knew no one would have been able to stop him now. Not now, not ever.

The woods around the palace of Gil-galad were huge, but Thranduil had not the slightest idea how long he must have been riding already. Maybe for minutes, he knew not. The only thing he hoped was that he had not yet exited the forest, for it was way past midnight and Azadeth would surely leave without him had he not found him soon.

He stopped Alagos gradually, the horse seemingly feeling the same flame inside as his owner. Thranduil gently stroked his side, murmuring words into the horse's ears as he turned him around and kept watching. He saw no one nearby, but the lights of the palace were still dimly visible in the distance which meant he wasn't too far. He started moving ahead slowly, keeping his eyes and ears open to everything, and he sighed deeply, letting the elven sight look harder. His eyelids fluttered closed, the whole forest silent and dark around him even in his mind, and then, only as a small black dot in the even blacker distance, there he was. Waiting at the bottom of a tree, rubbing his palms together, his hair lying all around his shoulders.

Thranduil caught himself smiling at the sight, but he didn't open his eyes. Azadeth seemed anxious, desperate even, and the heart of the blonde elf quickened. He waited for him, waited with the fear and doubt he would never come. The realisation hit Thranduil like a lightning bolt, his whole body shuddering as the sight left him and he was still on his horse in the dark, knowing exactly where to go. He was sure now that it was destiny that drew him on this road, that made him betray his mother's trust and disobey his best and wisest friend. He remembered Galadriel's words clearly, he just wished not to hear them, and, instead, he moved Alagos in the direction of the warrior.

With every step the horse took Thranduil's heart grew heavier and his chest tighter, but once he laid eyes on Azadeth for real, the warrior immediately jumped to his feet, sensing Thranduil's presence not even a moment late. The prince smiled at that, then dismounted his horse and came the rest of the way on feet, Alagos closely following him until they stopped right at the tree where Azadeth waited for them.

Eyeing each other for long moments, the two elves stood in the dark under the tall trees, and none of them knew what it meant for them. For it was not an ordinary trip to save someone.

It was the beginning of two brand new lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Azadeth means 'eternal life'. Also, can we appreciate the blossoming friendship of Thranduil and Lindir, as well as Gil-galad's feelings for Aerithil? We should. We really should.
> 
> Thank you so much for the reviews and the kudos. We are setting out on a great journey from now on! :3


	4. Demons We Hide

Tensed silence filled the throne room of the High King, and only a few from the crowd dared to even breathe. The concern was all but tangible in the heavy air, especially around the king himself, now sitting on his throne with his face buried in one palm. Many servants waited for his order, as well as other elves and men who gathered around him. Amongst them were Sindar and Noldor alike, and people of the king's friend, Elendil. They were the most silent of all, keeping their eyes on the burdened lord.

On who he rested his eyes, only he knew. She was sitting not too far from him, her face hidden from everyone. The Lady of Lórien held her shaking shoulders, stroking her back gently to try to calm her, even though it was hardly of any use now. Galadriel knew it the best. After all, only a mother could understand the heart of another mother.

"What is the order, my Lord?" the elf at the front asked, his long dark hair reaching as far as his waist. He was in full armor, and his voice was deep enough to make the glasses resonate in the hall. However, Gil-galad didn't even spare him a glance, and he kept his eyes on the crying figure of Aerithil, the Queen of the Woodland Realm.

The queen of his heart.

He was long yearning for her, ever since he first laid his eyes on her. She was one of the firsts, one of those who had seen the ancient times and fought the spirits of the old. She had never seen the light of the Two Trees, never felt the grace of the Valar on her skin, yet, she was the most beautiful and the wisest of all in Lindon. She was purer than the Lady Galadriel, her laughter ever ringing in the High King's ears and her smile lingering in front of his eyes at all times. He was helplessly in love, longing for her while he knew he could never have her. His feelings were forbidden, his thoughts and desires flagrant, and his heart unwilling to give up. He would have given everything for her, expecting nothing in return.

Now that her son was gone from the palace without trace, his heart urged him to do what he was ought to do for the sake of Aerithil. It was only his mind that objected. Dangerous times these were, and chances were slim that Thranduil would survive alone in the wild. Risking the life of those who would have come handy in the upcoming battles, for there was the prelude of war surely, was simply foolish. But, yet again, it was the Prince of the Woodland Realm, the son of his friend Oropher, and the sight of Aerithil under the burden of grief was more than what Gil-galad knew he could take.

There were two ways to go, and he had to choose quickly. If only at least one of them was granted to demand no sacrifice...

"My Lord?"

The warrior was obviously sensing the vagueness of his king for he spoke again, staring at Gil-galad until the High King finally looked up. He sat up on his throne properly, swallowing hard as he kept his eyes on the dark haired elf, a decision already forming in his mind.

"Gather your best men together, Cúon, and follow the traces of the prince until you find him," he spoke loudly, trying to hide his own concern behind the words. "Leave no stone unturned."

Cúon bowed in front of the throne deeply, and so did the rest of the party who were asked to be present in the king's hall with the utmost urgency. But, giving none of his attention to his warriors for any longer, Gil-galad's gaze was lingering upon Aerithil again, the blonde haired elf looking back at him with her glimmering, tear streaked face.

"Thank you," she mouthed gently so only the king would see and understand, then she smiled. Galadriel held her still and she was holding onto the younger gratefully, the Lady of Lórien being her only support in her pain.

The ladies then turned to each other again and nodded, Aerithil standing up and leaving with the rest of the people in the room while Galadriel stayed behind. She stood with her head hanging low, her eyes fixed on her laced fingers in front of her white raiment, and once the doors of the hall were closed, Gil-galad took a deep breath.

"I know it was foolish, what I have done," the king spoke, his voice resigned as he sank deeper on his throne and hid his face again behind his palm. The lady never moved an inch, standing tall and silent as her first removed cousin spoke his mind. "But don't wish me to suffer the look on Aerithil's face when her son does not return. Thranduil's heart had always called him to faraway lands and battles he was not meant to fight, not even Ilúvatar could have prevented this."

"You have done what you thought was right," Galadriel said, looking at the king from behind her lashes. Her face was serious, even though the lines on it were smooth and soft as always. The ice cold, cerulean eyes held something unusual, though, as if she knew something that Gil-galad didn't, and it rekindled the curiosity of the dark haired elf immediately. He didn't interrupt, just kept eyeing the Lady of Lórien with furrowed brows. "But so did Thranduil. For a really long time now."

Gil-galad's face grew even more serious as he rose from the throne slowly, taking those few steps until he was on firm ground again, approaching Galadriel carefully.

"You know where he is, don't you, Artanis?" His voice was nothing sort of demanding but utterly calm and silent, as if he was afraid anyone else was listening. Galadriel stood her ground, though, her face remaining composed as she held Gil-galad's glance. "You can tell us where to look for him."

"I know not where he is heading," she answered when the king was already standing right in front of her, his eyes are unblinking as he tried to read anything from her face without success. She was one of the oldest elves, and no younger member of her kin would have been able to solve her, save for Celeborn who had known her for a long time and kept studying her ever since. "What I know is not helpful in your search for him. I can merely tell you he is not alone, but I cannot guarantee his safety."

Gil-galad let out a long breath, the stoicness of his face fading away as he got lost in his thoughts. He assumed it was not a simple rabbit fever that led Thranduil away from home, for it was a well-known fact that the young prince loved his mother more than that. He wished not to desert her or his princely responsibilities, but the desire for adventure was ever present in his blood and it drove him at all times. A hunt was enough to learn that, and Gil-galad had seen it everytime they spent their days together in the woods. Thranduil would wander too far, hoping to see anything unusual so he could escape his bonds for a little while, but it was dull and changeless.

He knew he should have been cross at him for this, but Gil-galad couldn't find it in himself to feel so, and he held back a smile as he kept his eyes on the pendant on Galadriel's neck. Thranduil had reminded him an awful lot of his lost sister, and he somehow felt sure that no harm would come to him as long as he trusted his senses.

"I see these tidings were for your liking," Galadriel raised her perfectly curved eyebrows ever so slightly, and Gil-galad found himself smiling like a fool. He nodded and looked straight into the azure eyes of the Lady of Lórien.

"They were," he said, sighing deeply. "Indeed they were."

  
The elves were on the road for three days when, on the fourth evening, Thranduil woke Azadeth from a nightmare.

The warrior had been having the nightmares every night, and Thranduil had never even dared to touch him. Azadeth shivered and sweated, murmuring under his breath before he screamed out something in Noldorin that Thranduil didn't understand. He woke with his breathing growing heavy, his whole body shaking as he came back to reality. Whenever he caught Thranduil staring he glared at the younger, making the prince turn away and act like nothing had happened. They never mentioned it, and the blond elf would have been damned to provoke Azadeth even more. He was frustrated enough without that, although the prince didn't know what reason he had given him to act so. He got used to the short conversations about firewood and food and horses, and to how enigmatic the warrior seemed to be if it came to the details of their journey.

So Thranduil didn't push it and he just let him be. But on the fourth evening the nightmare seemed worse and Azadeth didn't wake, just kept turning on the leaves and whimpering in his dream, his whole body violently trembling with every movement.

The prince took his time with the approach, just in case the warrior would suddenly wake and kill him with one swift movement in his anger and trepidation. Once he looked more closely and saw the tears rolling down that strained face, though, he hesitated no longer and knelt quickly by Azadeth's side, grabbing his shoulders firmly and shaking him.

"Azadeth!" he called but the warrior kept dreaming, throwing his head to the side with low, painful moans. They were yet another muffled cries for someone, but Thranduil didn't understand and he was growing worried. He shook him a bit stronger this time, speaking to him on a voice louder than before. "Azadeth, wake up!"

When the warrior's eyes flew open, Thranduil knew he should have let him go immediately. He couldn't, though, for the terror in the azure seas around the narrowed pupils sent a shiver down his own spine and he was rendered completely unmoving. He felt the ghost of fingers digging into his flesh on his thigh, the closest thing Azadeth could reach, and they held onto each other for seconds before the warrior woke completely and the last demons of his nightmare fled from his mind. He seemed frightened and lost like a child, but, in the next moment he was his old self again, his grip on Thranduil lightening slowly.

Then, after realising where he was and what he was doing, he released the prince as if touching him was burning his hands, and he shook off Thranduil's hold from his shoulders, moving as far away from him as possible. He was clumsy as he stood, almost falling to the ground again, and Thranduil would have been ready to catch him, but he dared not to even reach after him. The deadly glare was still burning itself into his mind, and his skin was on fire where the warrior had touched him earlier. Two completely different feelings, tearing him apart at the same time.

"Do not ever touch me again," Azadeth muttered under his breath, walking from Thranduil's side as far as the fire, never once looking at the prince. Thranduil knelt without moving even an inch, staring at the spot where Azadeth was lying not wholly a minute ago. That look of terror just didn't seem to leave his mind, haunting him despite the way Azadeth was talking to him again.

The black haired elf was having the nightmare with his eyes closed, and Thranduil thought it might have been even worse that way. The prince himself had experienced several nightmares in his short years, mostly after the sack of Doriath. Life in exile had taken its toll on everyone, but the young prince and his friends were present at the bloodshed that not many others had seen and it haunted them every night. In one of those tents was the last time that Oropher had ever comforted his son, rocking him back and forth as if he was a child only. Thranduil could still recall those moments, clutching onto his father's robes and feeling safety washing over him, the last time he had ever felt like Oropher had cared for him.

Once they came to Lindon, he was nothing more than an heir to the throne of his kingdom, and, even though Thranduil tried to abandon that thought and dismiss it whenever it popped into his mind, it happened way too often to always do that.

Therefore, he understood nightmares more than many others, especially after getting used to having them with eyes closed, for everything was immediately more colourful and vivid behind closed eyelids. And if he still had them sometimes, even after leaving the memories behind for long centuries now, there was no one to know save for him.

He slowly turned his head to look at the warrior, the dark haired elf now trying to seem completely casual, but Thranduil suddenly saw through him and recognised the broken soul inside the stone shell without looking too hard. He was full of secrets that he was not willing to share, and Thranduil guessed it must have been the closest anyone had ever gotten to seeing inside him for a really long time now. He should have felt either upset or completely indifferent about it, but he felt glad that he could see a glimpse of the warrior, even if only for the fraction of a second.

Probably that is why he found himself hiding a smile, given that it wasn't the appropriate time to do that, and he kept watching Azadeth with a small tilt of his head.

"Is it about her?" Thranduil asked delicately, his eyes never leaving the other elf's figure, not even for the time of a blink. Azadeth didn't move, though, staring straight at the fire as if he was trying to douse it with one single look. "The nightmare. You can talk about it if it is easier that way. I completely know how it feels and I can assure you that it wi-"

"I don't care!"

The urge to smile immediately vanished from Thranduil as he was met with a pair of fiery eyes, the yell of Azadeth still echoing through his mind and the woods alike. It was an otherwise warm and starry night, but Thranduil felt as if the forest was burning down around him. Everything was dead silent, he felt like melting and his stomach dropped so deep he didn't even feel it anymore. He could hear the trees speaking so far while he was on watch, before Azadeth started dreaming. Now they were quiet too, filling the woods with the slight sense of terror.

"I don't care about your dreams and I don't need your help!" Azadeth continued, throwing his arms in the air. "I just want you to shut up and go to sleep, can you do that?"

Heavy silence fell on them, and Thranduil heard nothing besides his raging heartbeat in his ears. It felt like he was lying on the ground while a thousand of wild horses were racing right above him, some of them hitting him hard but never noticing him. It was a terrifyingly similiar experience, but these words were aimed at his heart and they were purposely spoken.

All Thranduil could utter was a question, a question that poisoned his mind for the last three days now but he never dared to ask. It lingered in the back of his head, it filled his thoughts whenever he looked at Azadeth or heard yet another blank order to do this or do that. It was as if he came only as a servant and not one to help him as an equal, and Thranduil wanted an answer. He couldn't hold it for any longer, he needed to know.

"Why did you take me with you?" he asked, his voice low and honestly confused. "I seem to be only a burden for you, an attachment with no use at all, so why did you take me?"

Azadeth let out an incredulous snort, shaking his head with exasperation. He looked up at the sky, providing Thranduil the chance to see the tears in them and on his face still, but it didn't touch the prince this time. At least, he tried to convince himself that it didn't.

The warrior then looked back at him, pressing his lips together into a forced smile.

"I know not, prince," he said, a sigh breaking its way through his lips, even though his voice was still harsh and louder than usually. It cut at Thranduil more and more the longer it echoed in his mind. "But you would be some use to me had you gone to sleep finally and just let me be."

Thranduil stayed silent as he knelt, suddenly finding the sweet grass and the leaves around him very interesting. His face was heated with embarassment and humiliation, homesickness slowly clouding his mind until he was on his feet, his blonde locks flying everywhere around him in a weak gust of wind. He was expecting an answer such as that, but he secretly hoped there would be a completely different explanation. He cursed himself for ever agreeing to this trip, for being the child he was and not seeing through the handsome smiles from the very beginning. For not seeing what he saw just now. That Azadeth wasn't the elf that Thranduil thought he was. That he was actually broken and beyond his ability to mend, for to heal two people were required.

And Azadeth apparently didn't want to heal.

They locked eyes again then, one still trembling with terror and another full of disappointment, when Thranduil opened his mouth to speak.

"I won't burden you for long, I can promise you that," Thranduil uttered his final words, so softly it was barely lost in the sound of the wind around them. Then, turning away from Azadeth he added: "I will leave at first light."

The warrior didn't say a word to stop him as the prince walked farther away from him to get his belongings and weapons from Alagos' side. The horse was dozing off but wasn't alarmed by the appearance of his owner, the elf's hands moving swiftly.

He tried to ignore the trembling of his limbs and the echo of Azadeth's words in his mind as he took his bow and quiver, as well as his sword. It was extremely hard to focus on anything when he found it so important to keep his stoic demeanor, especially now that he could feel Azadeth's eyes burning a hole on his back. He tried to ignore it, though, and stroked the breast of Alagos with an empty excuse of a smile before he turned to lay his bedroll next to the fire. He placed his weapons close to him, making sure he could quickly gather them at dawn and start moving back towards the mountains.

They barely passed them today, making sure they stayed far enough from the Gulf of Lhun and Mithlond so the people of Cirdan would not stop them. They followed the track of the orcs and they took care of their own as well. Even nature seemed to stand on their side, for no rain had fallen ever since they began their journey and it made it easier for them to keep a steady pace every day.

Now, though, none of this mattered, for all the distance they achieved since Lindon was in vain. Thranduil would turn back the next day, he would probably meet the men of Gil-galad halfway through Ered Luin and he would be taken back to Lindon. He wasn't keen on the scolding he was about to get from his mother, but he thought it would still be better to endure that than to stay one more day with Azadeth and feel that glance on him, filled with disdain at all times. He was broken, yes, but it didn't give him the right to treat Thranduil like that, and the prince wasn't about to take any more of that if it was up to him.

It took him a few minutes to properly make his bed, his whole body already warmed by the flames by the time he took off his outer garments and was lying only in a white tunic. He turned his back towards Azadeth on purpose, even though temptation was great to see the silent warrior's face, even if for just a short second. He resisted, though, and forced his eyes shut, listening keenly to the sounds of the fire instead of the breathing of the elf on the other side. He hoped sleep would have mercy on him and would come without begging, but, until his heart was beating in such rapid pace, Thranduil knew there was no chance he could get his well deserved rest anytime soon.

Therefore, he laid there in silence, opening his eyes after a while when he knew it was useless to keep them closed anymore. He missed the sight of the stars for the forest hid the night sky from him and he felt naked and miserable without it. He longed for the light of Gîlnelthil, for pleasant memories to well in his mind and fill him with joy. Naught came, though, and after a while he was forced to listen to Azadeth's steady breathing instead of the wind that played with the leaves around him. It was the only living sound, the beating of a heart almost audible somewhere in its depths, and Thranduil was so focused on listening to it that he almost jumped a little when the silence was broken and Azadeth spoke.

"It is my mother."

It was barely a whisper, almost a silent confession, the way Azadeth murmured those words. Thranduil's breath was caught in his lungs, his whole body tensing at the voice and he swallowed hard. Even he didn't know what he was thinking so far, but he most certainly wasn't expecting this. Everything seemed so simple now, so understandable, and Thranduil closed his eyes for a split second, but opened them almost immediately.

He didn't want to put himself in Azadeth's situation. It really wouldn't have ended well.

"She was taken by the orcs weeks ago. We were ambushed, only her and I," Azadeth continued and Thranduil listened, not moving even an inch. "I tried to save her, but I couldn't. And now she is either with them, tortured until she loses her mind and becomes one of them, or lies dead somewhere on the leaves in a dark forest and I will never find her. I don't know which is worse anymore. I just don't."

Thranduil could hear the tears in that voice, but he also heard the attempt to hide them and he slowly sat up to turn to Azadeth. The warrior's face was unreadable, at least a hundred different emotions written on it and Thranduil's stomach knotted at the sight, the elf showing for the very first time how broken he truly was. Thranduil assumed he had not his father anymore, and he didn't have anyone else to count on either, given that he and his mother were traveling alone. And even someone with as little experience on fighting orcs as Thranduil could tell this, two against a scout of orcs was an impossible fight.

He blinked slowly, eyeing Azadeth until the warrior turned his glance to his lap, showing a watery smile that most certainly didn't reach his eyes.

"I yelled at you because I didn't want to hurt you," the warrior said, unmoving and obviously aware of the searching gaze of the prince on himself. Thranduil's heart was beating in his throat steadily, but if he was overthrown with the urge to march over to Azadeth and comfort him until he was well again, it remained his secret. "I am sure you have heard the tale of Túrin Turambar and Beleg Cúthalion before, prince."

"Stop calling me prince," Thranduil snapped silently, an immediate reaction that he didn't really think through but, in the end, didn't regret either. He didn't raise his voice, it was merely a request that was picking at him since their first meeting in Thranduil's chambers. He kept his eyes on the ground, even though he felt Azadeth's gaze at himself constantly. "I have known Beleg Cúthalion well. He was a great captain and an even greater person."

Thranduil could all but hear the grin in Azadeth's voice after that.

"And a fool in love, or so I have heard."

The prince couldn't resist for any longer and looked up, only to meet mauve eyes staring into his soul and lighting his whole body on fire. That gaze consumed him on the inside, but he was strong enough not to let it show on the outside. It was his secret, this longing, despite everything that just happened. Azadeth drove him crazy, and there was no insult he could hurt Thranduil with that would have been able to take that away.

"Where do you think they took your mother?" he asked silently, taking the chance to change the subject before his skin would melt off his bones. The warrior didn't move, yet, at the question he suddenly seemed smaller, probably due to the ever changing light of the flames. The tension of the previous moments was gone, and Azadeth swallowed visibly hard before answering.

"North. We might have to cross the River Lhun, it depends on whether they dared to go too close to the Hills of Evendim or not. It is the land of men, after all," Azadeth answered, his voice gradually regaining its composure as he spoke. Thranduil nodded, thoughts gathering in his mind as he sat in silence and stared into the fire. "If you want to go, I won't stop you, you know."

The prince looked up with wonder in his eyes, honest surprise spread on his face. He could hardly believe that what he had just heard was real, given how Azadeth opened up to him once Thranduil told him he would leave. It seemed almost desperate from the warrior to tell Thranduil everything so keenly, but the blond didn't mention it. And not because he didn't want to make Azadeth uncomfortable, but because he wanted to stay.

More than anything.

"If you want me to come along, you will have to trust me," Thranduil said, keeping his face straight and his voice low as he spoke. Azadeth looked straight in his eyes, his face lit up in the thousand hues of orange on the far end of the campfire. "And there is no more calling me 'prince' or I will just simply leave you without warning."

The warrior started laughing at that, to Thranduil's greatest surprise, but he couldn't supress his smile either. He didn't know why he was bothered so much by that style, then again, he guessed it was because 'prince' had always sounded more like an insult and less like a proper form of address on the lips of Azadeth. He knew the age difference alone would have been enough to swallow this small annoyance, for he owed respect to Azadeth, yet he couldn't find it in himself to let it go so easily. After all, it was him doing the warrior a favour, not only the other way around. Azadeth knew little of the freedom he provided Thranduil by taking him on this trip, and the prince didn't plan on telling him anytime soon. It was his secret, and he preferred it that way.

"I might not die in trying to keep myself to your conditions," Azadeth said, sighing deeply as he kept eyeing the blond elf, a smile still playing on his lips. Thranduil found it mesmerizing how quickly he could switch from a heartbroken, vagueness-filled shell to the ancient, perky warrior, and he was rendered completely speechless by that smile, by the gratitude in those eyes. "Go to sleep now. Tomorrow is a long ride and it is already past midnight."

Thranduil did not even notice how exhausted he was, taking the first watch and then nearly deciding upon going home for good, but it washed over him in waves now, pulling his eyelids towards the centre of the globe. He still sat on his bedroll, though, dazed but still awake, and he nodded as a response.

"Good night, then," he said, showing a last small smile towards the warrior before nestling himself in the safety of the covers. His bedroll had never felt so comfortable before, and, in contrast with his first attempt to fall asleep, it came swiftly this time, the clicking of the fire filling his mind and the talk of the trees returning to the forest.

His name on Azadeth's lips was the last thing he heard before falling asleep completely.

On the next morning they didn't talk much, exchanging only a few words about how silent the night was and how far they planned to go until noon. They also ate from their lembas that Thranduil could smuggle out of the kitchens back in the palace. It wasn't exactly the most tasty breakfast either of them could think of, but until they would reach the rich forest behind the mountains they were ought to be satisfied with this. Hunting wasn't a quick process, and they traveled way past sunset the day before, giving them no chance to shoot a rabbit or a fowl.

They set out at dawn, deciding to ride close to the eastern side of the mountain where caves were scooped in the stone by the dwarves. These caverns were empty now, abandoned by their makers and ruined in the War of Wrath, but they were still perfect hiding places in case the people of Gil-galad would catch up with them or orcs would turn up. They rode in a good pace, though, not fearing the searching parties and completely leaving the borders of Mithlond behind.

It was already midday when they came across a small waterfall, close to the ancient town of Nogrod and they stopped for their first rest. Thranduil didn't remember the last time he had a decent bath, and the horses appreciated the crystal clear, flowing water in the small lake as well. It was merely just the gift of the mountain, a chance for the tired to stop and refresh themselves.

And so did the elves.

"We should really clean ourselves," Azadeth mused as he led his horse next to Alagos, patting the side of the animal as she drank. The warrior had the most beautiful mare Thranduil had ever seen, and he was surprised that someone like Azadeth didn't have a stallion. He never mentioned it, though, just secretly stole glances at the horse and sometimes he gifted her with an apple from his bag, another stolen treasure from the palace. "There is still a long way, I don't think we can go any farther than Belegost today. We can make our camp there, but, until then we are good to stay here."

He didn't wait for Thranduil's response and left his horse to drink, as well as the prince to tend to Alagos. Needless to say once the words left the warrior's lips Thranduil found it hard to focus on his horse and he followed Azadeth's every movement instead, not quite sure on what the other was about to do. His hands grew vague on the snow white horsehair, absentmindedly stroking Alagos' side while he watched the black haired elf from the corner of his eye. He soon walked out of his field of vision, though, and Thranduil cleared his throat quickly, giving one last pat to Alagos before turning to sit on a stone not too far away.

 _Behave yourself, it's just a bath. It won't hurt you and you don't have to look at him,_ he tried to calm himself. The simple thought of Azadeth removing his clothes planted a knot in his stomach, and he felt embarassed because of it. He finally managed to silence his restless thoughts on the warrior after learning how difficult he was, how different he was from everything he had imagined the black haired elf would be, but it all seemed useless and distant now, the voice in his head speaking louder and louder. Again.

He sat on the stone with a supressed swallow, afraid to even look up, but before he could have stopped himself, he did peek. And what he saw was absolutely mesmerizing.

Boots and clothes were scattered in the grass on the shore of the lake, with weapons on the top of the pile. For someone to undress themselves so quickly there had to be routine, and Thranduil had his jaw hanging at the sight. But when he moved his glance along towards the lake and he saw the perfectly shaped back with the sable locks, waist deep in water and glowing like a god, even the breath was caught in Thranduil's lungs and he stared, he stared for long moments. He knew he should have stopped before Azadeth would turn around, but he lost control over his mind - and his body. His blood was heading south now, fleeing his limbs to leave them numb and empty, filling his midsection with pure lust. The mere thought of moving seemed impossible right now, even after Azadeth did turn. For they locked eyes, and one look was enough to set Thranduil's whole body on fire.

"Are you going to stare or will you come in?"

It was a simple question, but every single word burned a hole in Thranduil's mind. His face was steaming hot from embarassment, and the way he turned his look to his lap and stared at his thighs as if he was waiting for the ground to open up underneath him didn't make it better. If anything he felt even worse, and he just shook his head like a timid child, not doing what he was asked simply because he was asked to do it.

"I would prefer staying on the shore, thank you," he answered, not even sure that Azadeth had heard him, but the laughter of the warrior suggested the opposite.

"Come on, we haven't bathed for five days," he threw his arms in the air, only emphasizing his lean waist and the muscles on his stomach. Thranduil swallowed hard, finding it hard to take his eyes off of the black haired elf's perfect body, but at least he wasn't staring this time. "If it makes you feel better I will turn away."

Thranduil looked up carefully as if he was afraid of what he was going to see, but once he saw the reassuring yet cunning smile on that face, he found himself standing up and slowly approaching the lake. He had never felt this strength before, pulling him like he was on strings and someone was moving him against his will. He had his heart hammering in his throat as he slowly stopped next to the pile of Azadeth's clothes, then undid his swordbelt and placed it on the ground delicately.

"Turn around, then," Thranduil murmured, his voice surprisingly weak as he uttered the words. The warrior rolled his eyes as a response, obviously waiting for the prince to move on and continue undressing, but he obeyed the blond elf's wish and turned away with a dramatic sigh.

It was hard to resist the smile that was trying to break through his shy mask as he pulled off his boots. He was sure to keep an eye on Azadeth as he moved his fingers to his cloak and let it fall to the ground behind him, already making him feel naked. The dark haired elf didn't move, just stood there in the middle of the water, obviously waiting for Thranduil to finish, but the prince took his time on purpose. Some hidden, secret part of him was wishing that maybe, just maybe Azadeth would be curious enough to look back, but he knew he was foolish to hope for this. There wouldn't be much to see anyway, given that Thranduil would have died first than to dip even one toe in the water, therefore, he wasn't planning on undressing completely.

"Do you need help, princess?" Azadeth's question broke the silence as Thranduil was stepping out of his leggings, folding it next to his other clothes. The words drew an incredulous laugh from him, almost loud enough to fill the whole mountainside, and he could actually feel the knowing grin on Azadeth's face.

"Is it so hard to call me by my name?" he asked, a smile full of playful disbelief spreading across his lips as he straightened to remove his suede jerkin. He felt odd for not following his usual order of clothing which began with braiding his hair so it wouldn't get tangled, for now the golden locks flew everywhere in the air as he pulled off his drapes. Only the white tunic stayed, reaching as long as his thighs, leaving him barefoot and half-naked on the shore of that lake.

"In one's name there is power," Azadeth answered, but Thranduil just shook his head with an amused expression, folding his clothes properly while kneeling in the sweet grass. "Using it should be for only a very good reason."

The prince slightly furrowed his brows at that, standing up again and tilting his head as he eyed the dark locks and the pale back intensely.

"It didn't stop you yesterday," he said on his challenging tone, curious to see the reaction of the warrior at that. He sat on the shore, then, close enough to the water so he could start washing his legs, but his eyes never really left Azadeth's form. He could see the body in the water tensing, the warrior's head hanging low before a small huff of breath escaped his lips and he turned around without warning.

"You weren't meant to... hear that."

The moment Azadeth laid his eyes on Thranduil, the prince bathing himself delicately with long and elegant fingers, his words stuck in his throat and he stared with lips slightly parted. The blond elf felt his blood rush into his cheeks once that azure look took in his sight, and he felt a sudden wave of embarassment again, the urge to tear his eyes from the dark elf. Azadeth watched him without shame, almost in the same fashion as Thranduil watched him earlier, and the only difference was the prince's shyness that made him look away.

They stayed like that for quite a while, only the sound of the waterfall breaking the complete silence. The further Thranduil was pulling the bottom of his tunic the greater amount of skin was exposed to Azadeth, and the warrior gave no sign of leaving the other in peace to wash himself or to stop staring. It took Thranduil a few moments to speak, but there was the ghost of a smile in his voice and he couldn't hide that.

"You are a fool to say things that you don't mean others to hear."

Azadeth seemed taken aback for a second, not understanding what the blond was implying to, but when he realised that Thranduil only answered his earlier excuse, he cleared his throat quickly and submerged in the water so only his head was visible. Thranduil felt only the tiniest bit of relieved at that, for he still felt that burning gaze on his skin, but at least he didn't have to fight the urge to stare at those flawless limbs and torso.

"I am often a fool," Azadeth admitted with a smile, dipping his head in the water so his hair was wetted now too. Thranduil kept himself from watching him, focusing on not going too close to the water, yet, still being able to somehow clean himself. It was difficult but he kept trying, clumsily though but successfully. "If you do not come in only because I am here, you could have simply asked me to come out and let you bath first."

Thranduil looked up with a surprised blink, but once he saw honesty on Azadeth's face he just shook his head, a gesture barely visible. The warrior furrowed his brows but asked nothing, his expression enough is a question to be answered.

"I don't like water," Thranduil gave the simplest explanation, and it immediately drew a small laugh from Azadeth's lips.

"You don't like water," he repeated only to see Thranduil starting to wash his knees for the umpteenth time in the last minute. He fell silent, then, seeing that it wasn't a foolish excuse or just a childish stubbornness. Thranduil truly wasn't about to bath properly, and it shocked the dark haired elf utterly. "I don't think there will be another chance."

"I don't mind," the prince shook his head, washing his other knee until it had a pale pink hue from the rubbing.

Azadeth stayed quiet for a little longer, eyeing the prince who avoided the water as much as he could and only wetted his hands and his legs but never his face. It was a strange sight indeed, for elves were known for their longing after the sea, the call of the Blessed Realm ever present in their hearts. Thranduil seemed completely different, though, and he was really careful around the water, so careful it was almost sad.

Maybe this sadness led Azadeth when he slowly emerged from the water and approached Thranduil, not feeling embarassed at all as his whole body was open in front of the blond elf. It couldn't be told of Thranduil, though, for the prince felt all of his blood rising into his face. He tried to seem as small as he could, turning away his burning face the closer Azadeth came. Still he kept his eyes on the water when the warrior was already standing above him, towering over him like the mountain itself, water dripping from his hair right at Thranduil.

"If you finished splurging yourself, we are moving on."

And with that, he picked up his belongings from the ground and walked past Thranduil, leaving the prince to regain his composure and wait until his heartbeat slowed down again.

Needless to say, it took a long while.

He could feel it even when they were already in Belegost, fighting a stray orc scout.

"Are you going to lie there comfortably or will you help out over here?"

Thranduil slipped before he would have had the chance to watch out. It was the root of a tree, still wet because of the rain earlier. He landed unceremoniously, his bow out of reach and now dropping his sword too. All he had time for was to crawl back until he simply wasn't able to, expecting some kind of help in the dim light and the fog, but he saw no sign of it. Afterwards he just prayed, looking straight into the lovat eyes of the orc and watching the axe in his hand slashing through the air in the prince's direction. There was no chance to kick it out of his hand or to roll away. He was cornered and he closed his eyes.

All he heard was the groan of someone dying, the sound of the falling axe and then a body in similiar fashion. Thranduil saw the arrow in its skull, then also saw the violent movements of Azadeth as the warrior fought to protect him. It seemed like every orc was coming up at them, and given the circumstances, the question of the dark haired elf was completely valid.

"I will never forget the moment when you asked for my help for the second time," Thranduil grinned as he lunged for his sword. Something in the grass had torn his leggings and clawed into his thigh but he didn't care about the pain. He stood instead, slashing through the orcs that just never ceased to come, even though their numbers were seemingly decimated.

For a moment he thought it was only the heat of the fight that he saw a figure in black hood firing arrows at the orcs. The stranger was obviously an elf, considering his composure and the aura around him. Of who he was, though, or why he aided them Thranduil knew nothing, but the mere sight of this dark stranger pushing his bow on the ground and pulling out his sword instead suggested huge experience in fighting, and it indeed came handy.

It took a few more minutes until most of the orcs were killed, lying on the grass and filling the otherwise sweet soil with their blood. The fog didn't rise and the stranger was still fighting while Thranduil and Azadeth pushed their swords back into their scabbards and the prince picked his bow from the ground.

"Do you know him?" Thranduil muttered silently so only Azadeth would hear him. The warrior eyed the figure for a while, as if he was trying to identify him from behind, but he just shook his head and waved for the prince gently so he would raise his bow. There was one more arrow left in the quiver that the blond elf pulled out silently, aiming right at the stranger.

The hooded figure had finished the last orc that couldn't find a way to escape, pulling his sword out of its back with a quiet moan. He wiped his blade in his cloak, the dark blood of the orc all but lost on the sable material. Thranduil could see from the corner of his eye as Azadeth took a tentative step forwards, his eyebrows furrowed as he watched the stranger carefully, as if he had seen him somewhere before.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice so deep it all but resonated in Thranduil's chest. The prince held the bow firmly, though, never losing focus for even a second.

"You cannot remember the movements you taught me yourself?" There was bitter amusement in the stranger's voice as he pushed his sword back to its place and turned his head to look back above his shoulder. His face was dark behind the hood, only his sad smile showing in the twilight. While Thranduil only gripped his bow strong, Azadeth, on the contrary, eased the tension in his body and he stared with wide eyes, suspicion all but gone from his face.

They stared at each other like that for a second, leaving Thranduil completely unaware of what was happening, but, before the prince could have asked anything, Azadeth spoke.

"Is it really you, Makalaurë?" the warrior all but whispered, and Thranduil blinked with confusion.

"Makalaurë?" The blond haired elf stared, not even noticing the unknown elf removing his hood and revealing himself, eyes dark with sorrow and weariness, face as beautiful as only one of the Noldor could look. Thranduil's hold on the bow lightened, and he didn't even realise he had his mouth hanging open until his lips were already dry.

He understood now, crystal clearly. The pieces fell together, and, with Azadeth's completely shocked expression on the top of it, everything made perfect sense.

The stranger was Maglor, the second son of Fëanor. And he just saved them from an orc attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the amazing reviews and kudos, I am really grateful for all of you. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, I will come with the next update soon. :3


	5. Gold-cleaver

"You really should not show yourselves with me. It can turn friend to foe in a second."

Azadeth took the plate with the food on it from Thranduil, the earlier shot rabbit now steaming with a piece of lembas on the side. The warrior then walked up to the elf with the harp and pushed it into his hands, closely followed by a pointed look.

"Shut up and eat."

Maglor blinked heplessly, taking the food in the fashion of an obedient child and put the rag in his hands away that he was cleaning his harp with. The instrument was greater than Lindir's, more bright and older, and Thranduil couldn't take his eyes off it. And not just the harp, but the dark haired elf in general, now eating like he was afraid it would be poisoned. He took small bites at first, but once he tasted the meat and it all but melted on his tongue, he started eating with more courage, a small smile on his face.

"Prepare one more plate," Azadeth muttered, waking the prince from his thoughts as he walked back to the fire. Thranduil looked at him with surprise, but Azadeth's face was unreadable. "And don't stare at him like-"

"Leave him alone, Azadeth," Maglor said silently, his eyes still fixed on his plate as he was looking for his next mouthful. The others turned their heads in his direction immediately, the blond with wondering and the black with eyes narrowed. "Join me, Thranduil. Food tastes better in company."

Thranduil didn't need to be asked twice. He completely ignored Azadeth as he walked past him, picking up the second plate he prepared for Maglor. Upon reaching him he put the plate to rest in his lap while he sat down, watching the other elf carefully while he ate. He wasn't different than anyone Thranduil had ever seen, and he had the same beauty as Azadeth, only the lines on his face held more sorrow than the warrior's.

Everybody knew the reason of it.

"I have missed the taste of this. You cook well, Prince of Greenwood," Maglor looked up, smiling softly at the blond elf. Thranduil blushed ever so slightly, an almost shy chuckle escaping his lips. "Where did you learn? Princes don't often cook."

"In exile," Thranduil said. Acquiring this skill was one of the happy memories that he had of the Isle of Balar, and he smiled now too as he recalled his time around the fire with his friends and the other elves of Doriath. "We spent a long time with only a few servants and we saw no reason why we couldn't aid them in these matters."

Maglor nodded, his face growing nostalgic as he took another bite and chewed on it for long moments, enjoying the flavour until it was no more. Thranduil didn't break the silence, he just eyed the harp next to Maglor with awe. Even though he wasn't talented in music he found the instrument fascinating and a really rare belonging. He saw Maglor unwrapping it from the bag he was carrying on his shoulder, and he couldn't stop staring at it ever since. If the son of Fëanor noticed his eyeing, he didn't mention it.

Not until now.

"I have lectured many in the skill of playing the harp," Maglor murmured, obviously amused by the way Thranduil snapped his head to look at him. The prince felt like a wee elfling for the umpteenth time in the last hour, and he was already expecting Azadeth to scold him for acting so strange. The warrior wasn't with them, however, for he was sitting by the fire a bit farther away, warming his palms and seemingly not paying any attention to their conversation.

"Like the Lord Elrond and his brother?" Thranduil asked, looking back at Maglor. The other nodded with a smile, placing his empty plate in the grass. Thranduil immediately offered him the next plate that Maglor took after a bit of hesitation and a grateful glance at the prince.

"Elrond and Elros were both very skilled musicians. They came to me at a very young age and they had plenty of time to master the harp and singing," Maglor said, not staring to eat immediately but looking straight at Thranduil instead. The prince felt completely mesmerized, even though he was very well aware of who the person in front of him was. Or how and why the twins ended up with him.

Yet, he wasn't less amazed. And he was everything but afraid.

"I have seen things that no one should ever see," the older elf continued, his gaze getting lost in the flames as he eyed them. The plate in his hands was unmoving, his facial expression holding more pain than Thranduil would have ever imagined. "But those two... They brought back the hope that we could be normal again, one day. That we could use our language freely, that we could go amongst people and they would not spit at us. That Ilúvatar would forgive us for what we had done and we could live freely of the bonds of the Oath."

He fell silent for a short moment, then, his eyes finding Thranduil's again. They were full of tears now, and the blond felt like being kicked at the chest. Ever since he was a child he was taught the Oath of Fëanor, the way how each son died and their atrocities before. Thranduil should have called Maglor kinslayer, he should have killed him on the spot for shedding the blood of so many innocents, for decimating his own kin. Because he wasn't any different than his brothers, and Maglor knew that too.

Yet, Thranduil didn't even think of reaching for his sword or his bow. He didn't think about killing him, because what good would it have done now? Would it have brought those who died back to life? Would it have been more than spilling even more blood? Would it have been more than a simple murder? Thranduil knew the answer, and he rested his hands in his lap, never reaching for a weapon.

Regret was the greatest punishment one could be stricken with, and he knew there would come a time when those tears would wash the guilt clean and Maglor could start over. Maybe not in this life, but there would come a time, he was certain about that.

He never noticed Azadeth appearing behind Maglor, for he was so deep in his thoughts, but he saw the warrior leaning down and wiping away the tears of the crying elf. He had one hand on Maglor's shoulder while the other was gently stroking his face, pulling it towards his chest and holding it there for a little while. It was a simple moment of deep trust and caring, and Thranduil found himself with the urge to smile. Azadeth's movements were fatherly, indicating that he had done this before a countless times, guarding Maglor and his brothers. Thranduil knew the warrior was older than all of them, but how old he was exactly, it had been untold. The prince knew one more thing, though.

Whatever the secret of Azadeth was, it worked. Because Maglor soon stopped crying and looked up again, first to give a smile to Azadeth, then to do the same with Thranduil, this time without any sign of sorrow on his face.

"Ruling a kingdom is not as hard as it seems, but I am sure Azadeth will help you in everything you need," he said, wiping the smile from Thranduil's face immediately. The blond prince felt the blood rushing into his cheeks as he processed what Maglor just said, and he knew that whatever he was about to say, his throat would've been too narrow to do so now.

He turned his head to look at the fire with embarassment, but even Azadeth's low chuckle didn't ease his discomfort. If anything, it only increased it.

"He is not my lover of any kind," Azadeth said casually, as if he was talking about weather or how beautiful the skyscape looked that night. And indeed it was beautiful for Thranduil but he soon lost all of his interest in admiring the stars when he heard what Azadeth said.

He turned to the older elves like a lunatic, his eyes pouring sparks all over the warrior when their gazes met. Maglor, sensing Thranduil's exasperation, just kept silent and started eating carefully. His eyes never left the prince as the blond elf rose from the branch he was sitting on.

"For what kind I could be if fate would bring upon such terrible turn, warrior?" he asked, his voice dangerously low and calm for the ice cold gaze he laid upon Azadeth. The warrior didn't seem touched, though, for he just threw a waste stick into the fire, watching it being consumed by the flames with a cunning grin. "Would you care for me then? Would you offer me food and better bedding? Would you give me whatever my heart wishes for? Or would you bed me perhaps, then let me go on my way? Would I be nothing more than a whore?"

Azadeth didn't answer, he just kept staring at the fire with the same smile and it angered Thranduil even more. It seemed like the dark elf knew something that Thranduil didn't, and there wasn't possibly anything worse than that.

"I am talking to you, so find your manners and look at me!" Thranduil demanded, but when the warrior did look upon him, his heart was immediately beating in his throat from that gaze. Because the smile was different now, almost as if he was eating up Thranduil with every second, and the prince stood like he was rooted to the spot.

And he couldn't find a way to move. Not anymore.

"You don't have to worry about these things, prince," he said, his voice charming despite the disdainful look on his face. It felt somehow strange, though, but Thranduil lost his ability to focus. All he saw was those lips moving, and he absentmindedly parted his own at the sight. "I reassure you, I would never bed you, and loving such a hysterical person would be absolutely impossible. I can even tell you this: not just me, no one would ever be capable of that."

Thranduil closed his mouth slowly, staring with all the anger vanishing from his eyes. There was something else there completely, a pain he had seldom felt before, and it burdened him so heavily that he couldn't keep his face free of it. Azadeth must have seen it, for the last remnants of his grin disappeared and he looked with the slightest bit of guilt, never speaking another word.

The prince stood there for a while, looking down at the black haired elf until he could do it no more and he turned his glance to stare at the dirt instead. There wasn't much grass around here, only dusty ground with small and sharp stones everywhere, tiny bits of the mountains above them. Thranduil counted them in his mind, keeping his thoughts away from the things that Azadeth said, but it was harder than he imagined. Even Maglor stopped eating and he just eyed them, Thranduil could tell without even looking.

Well, he knew they would be a strange sight. Now it was more miserable than strange.

"I am sorry," Azadeth muttered silently, but it did no good. Thranduil didn't feel better, and the silence wasn't less tensed. If anything, it only strengthened the urge inside the blond prince's chest to sit on Alagos and leave in that very moment. "I did not mean to-"

"I will rest now, if you will excuse me, Maglor," Thranduil cut him off abruptly, yet, on a voice as silent as the fire's sounds, looking straight at the son of Fëanor and completely ignoring Azadeth. The warrior was quiet and Maglor just nodded with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Rest well, Thranduil."

And Thranduil, without even looking at either of them, simply turned and went to gather his belongings for the night.

  
Thranduil was lying on his bedroll motionlessly for hours when Azadeth and Maglor started talking. They sat in silence so far, watching the fire slowly go out in front of them. They didn't eat, they didn't drink and they didn't talk. There was thunder somewhere in the distance, probably beyond the mountains and around Lindon, but Thranduil kept the pretense of sleeping despite of his aching heart. He was thinking of his mother when the two elves spoke on a voice barely audible, and Thranduil was brought back to reality immediately, his pained heart easing at their murmured conversation.

"What happened to your hair, Oiocuilë?"

Maglor's voice was soft like rain after a storm, barely even a sound in the light winds amongst the trees. Thranduil kept his eyes closed, reclining upon his senses instead of his imagination.

"The same orc attack that took my mother," Azadeth answered, his voice rougher than Maglor's, mostly with the desire for vengeance. Yet, it was quiet in the same fashion, sending a shiver down Thranduil's spine under his covers. "Rain is washing away their tracks. I will not find her in time, Makalaurë. The orcs weren't willing to speak, and we are running out of time. If she dies, I will not forgive myself."

"I am familiar with the burden you bear," Maglor said gently. "But I also know you, and it is one of the greatest gifts I could ever receive. You will find your mother, Oiocuilë, alive and well. And no one will have to die."

A heavy sigh followed afterwards, then a few muttered words in a language Thranduil had heard before but did not understand. He figured it was Quenya, the same language Gil-galad and Galadriel had always used, the one Thranduil had found so fascinating. He managed to pick up some words but it was far from enough to start a conversation.

Now, though, hearing these elves speaking this language somehow planted warmth in his stomach, for reasons unknown even to him. He still felt sour whenever he remembered the words that Azadeth addressed to him, every single accusation stabbing him in the chest over and over again.

At least he truly spoke his mind this time. There would be no need to pretend anymore.

"You know you have nothing to fear this time?" Maglor murmured, but no answer came. The air was light and pure and Thranduil could see their every single movement behind his closed eyelids.

"What do you mean?" Azadeth asked, his brows silghtly furrowed as he eyed the younger elf in the dim light of the stars and the moon.

"You exactly know what I mean, Oiocuilë."

The confused expression on Azadeth's face cleared as realisation hit him, slowly but surely, and a wave of pain rushed through his gaze before he looked at the ground. Thranduil saw the smile on Maglor's face growing, full of relief and happiness, yet, small enough to show he learned to be afraid of being happy over the years. Happiness was like dancing on thin ice, and who would have known better than him?

"Meltyë sé," Maglor continued and Thranduil wondered what he must have said. It felt like as if they both knew perfectly that Thranduil pretended sleeping, that he heard them and it was something he was not meant to know.

It bothered him greatly, but he kept breathing like one sleeping, glad he laid down with his back facing them.

"I cannot afford that now," Azadeth shook his head, taking one last apologising look at Maglor before standing and heading towards his horse to get his own bedroll. The younger elf's voice stopped him, however, speaking in the same soft fashion as before.

"How long will you let the past haunt you?" he asked, no sign of smile on his face now. Thranduil's heart started beating heavier without any reason, but he kept his ears open to every word nonetheless. "How long will you deny that you see yourself in him, that is why you hurt him? You treat him as you were treated in the years long before he was born, and of what use? He can help you, yet, you are pushing him away."

"I won't let him get too attached," Azadeth turned swiftly, every word uttered between his teeth with pure self-restraint to keep his voice down. Thranduil's heart was beating in his throat now, forcing it wider with every second. "I won't let him make my mistakes. I only wish to free my mother, damn the consequences."

Maglor fell silent after that, not making any remarks just turning his head from Azadeth after a while, watching Thranduil's back instead. The blond prince immediately felt naked under that gaze, becoming completely sure that the harper was well aware of him being awake, yet, Maglor didn't say a word. Azadeth was gone already, tending to his horse and calming his mind, and it was now only the two of them, just Thranduil and Maglor in the camp.

And then, just as Thranduil suspected, the voice arrived in his head and he jumped ever so slightly, his eyes flying open.

_Never leave him alone, no matter what._

He knew he wouldn't. Especially from that moment on.

The next morning came slowly, none of them sleeping too well that night. Thranduil only managed to part from reality at dawn for an hour or so, but, by the time he woke, Azadeth was already by the relit fire, preparing some breakfast completely alone. His face was wearied and dark, as if he hadn't slept for a hundred years now, and Thranduil sat on his bedroll with heavy eyelids while watching the warrior.

The events of the former night slowly came back into his mind, flowing like a stream between his thoughts, and his throat immediately narrowed. It was the second time on their journey that he felt the urge to go home, homesickness slowly consuming him inside, but it was also the second time he fought it down and prevailed against it. The unpleasant, stinging feeling, however, didn't pass at all, and once their eyes met, it was only worse. Azadeth's gaze was unreadable and tired, with no sign of guilt or regret at all.

It was as if nothing had happened. Nothing at all.

"Where is Maglor?" Thranduil found his voice after tearing his glance from the dark haired elf and standing up to tend to his bedroll. He tried to sound as casual as he could, but he wasn't sure Azadeth could be fooled so easily.

"He left. He didn't want to wake you."

Thranduil didn't answer just kept reeling his bedroll as slowly as he could. He wanted to avoid joining the elf or even looking at him for as long as possible, and the news of Maglor being gone only made it more difficult. He hoped the son of Fëanor would still be there and he could find some comfort in talking to him, but, then again, he guessed it was Maglor's way of living. Never staying for long so he wouldn't get anyone killed. Thranduil could understand completely, yet, he felt sorry he couldn't say goodbye to the elf. He was completely different from everything the prince was taught of him, but it was probably best to be kept as a secret.

His father might have not appreciated this little encounter.

"We need to talk," Azadeth continued when he realised Thranduil wasn't about to answer, but the prince still tried to ignore him the best he could. One shrug was all he managed to give as a response, but no actual words, even though his tongue was itching for telling the warrior his opinion on him. He kept silent and stood with the reeled bedroll in his hand, staring at the ground.

There was a huff of breath, almost a snort and almost a chuckle, and Thranduil could actually see Azadeth shaking his head with exasperation.

"Come here and sit down."

It was Thranduil's time to make that sound, finally not being able to look away anymore. He stared straight into Azadeth's eyes with his own angered gaze, all but burning a hole in the mazarine worlds around the dark irises. He was almost trembling from rage, every insult and every painful word echoing in his mind all over again seemingly without end. That he would never be loved, not by anyone. That he is just a prince and nothing more. That he is of no use at all.

And it was enough.

"No, I won't go there and I won't sit by your side like an obedient little child," Thranduil started on a voice dripping with disbelief and anger, holding his bedroll so close to him it was almost completely deformed between his long fingers. His fingertips were white with the strength, and his jaw was clutching with irritation. "If you want to talk to me, you will stand up and come here and tell me what you want. I am done being your attachment, I didn't decide to help you to be treated like this."

The silence was so thick around them that it was almost tangible, tension forcing every ounce of air out of Thranduil's lungs as he kept his eyes on the warrior. He lost a bit of frustration with every word, but he felt only a little better, still having a good lot to say. He was only waiting for an opportunity.

Azadeth stood so slowly it was painful to watch, throwing the stick he used to pick at the fire to the ground. His movements were the exact same as two thousand years ago, predatory, charming, but that magic didn't work on Thranduil this time. He saw behind the mask and he saw the broken person there - the rest was simple pretense, to make him feel like a victim in the spider's web. Thranduil wasn't about to give in, though, and he never looked away as Azadeth came closer, stopping right in front of him only seconds later. His closeness felt dangerous, but Thranduil didn't speak and didn't stumble. He stood his ground firmly, his chin raised ever so slightly in the fashion of his father.

The thought of Oropher being proud of him was odd, but Thranduil believed it would have been true in that moment.

"I didn't want to order you around," Azadeth said softly, yet, with an obvious edge in his voice and Thranduil swallowed. "I wanted to thank you."

It was hard to hold back the snort but somehow the prince managed to do it, only showing a meaningful raise of his brow to make his confusion visible.

"For not strangling you in your sleep?" he asked and wasn't even surprised when Azadeth's low chuckle closely followed after. He didn't find it so amusing, though, so he kept the serious expression and never broke the eye-contact, not even for a moment.

"For being nice to Maglor," the warrior said, his voice eternally soft. Despite his disdain the way those words sounded on the black elf's lips sent a warm shiver down Thranduil's spine, starting on the nape of his neck and slowly traveling down to the small of his back. It spread, then, wrapping his waist in an embrace and Thranduil trembled ever so slightly, blinking for the first time in minutes. "He has been through a lot more than you or I. He deserved your kindness, and you were good for giving it to him."

Thranduil cleared his throat shortly, blinking a few more before finally looking away and taking a deep breath. He truly expected an apology, but he didn't know what made him hope for anything like that. The prince was sure now that Azadeth must have completely forgotten about their little quarrel last night, but maybe it was the best that way. Maybe it was a sign that Thranduil shouldn't be looking for good at a place where there wasn't any.

He let a small smile appear on his lips, but as he stepped aside to walk past Azadeth, there was no sign of that smile in his eyes.

"You see, there are people who don't feel the need to squelch you after you are nice to them," the prince mused, but he could only take two steps perhaps when he felt strong fingers grabbing his wrist and holding him back. He felt surprise washing over him but he didn't back away, and he most certainly wasn't about to turn around. Fighting against those hands would have been completely useless and it would have only earned him some bruises on his skin, so he decided to stand still and wait until Azadeth would release him.

There was no word for a long time to break the silence around them, only that one touch binding them together. It was burning and ice cold at the same time, strong and gentle, painful and soothing. Thranduil felt Azadeth's thumb on his pulse, but it was too late to keep his heartbeat steady now. His own body gave him away, again, and he closed his eyes for a second, trying to dismiss memories and disturbing thoughts from his mind.

One pull. One pull on that arm would have been enough to make Thranduil stumble back, it would have been enough for their bodies to touch and for the prince to lose control. It didn't come, though, and as long as they stood still the blond elf still saw the chance to hold his ground as he had done it so well so far.

"You told me I was unlovable and you refuse to call me by my name," Thranduil murmured, his eyes still closed as he gave himself over to his senses, the face of Azadeth slowly appearing in front of him. It wasn't clear enough just yet, so he took a deep breath and continued. "You are broken so you break. But does it make you feel better? Answer me."

Thranduil felt the warrior's finger slightly moving against his skin, probably to supress the trembling. It was a strange position and a moment full of tension, and Thranduil would have given anything for that picture to finally clear in his head. With his rapidly beating heart, though, his senses were dazed more than ever, denying him his wish and challenging him over and over again.

"It does not matter how I feel," Azadeth answered quietly. His hand was still trembling but he didn't try to hide it anymore. "This is not the last time someone will try to break you. Try to make you believe you cannot be loved. It is better if I do it now than someone else doing it later. Someone that you might love."

"That is your bitter past, not my future," Thranduil found himself saying before he could have stopped, and he was glad he didn't face the warrior for his face grew hot, turning into a mask of pain at his rashness. Azadeth's hold on him remained the same while Thranduil's heartbeat paced even quicker, almost trying to break his ribcage open.

That conversation between Maglor and Azadeth last night was drawn out of the warrior on purpose. Maglor knew of Thranduil's presence all along, and it was something he intended for the prince to hear. Something that might have given him an instruction in the difficult maze of Azadeth's unusual personality, something to think about. And Thranduil did think about it, for long hours in the silence of the night.

He just didn't mean to give himself away.

"Let's go before the tracks are completely vanished."

And just like that, the touch was gone. The warmth and the cold and the comfort and the danger, they were all part of the past now, and only the scent of Azadeth remained as he walked past the prince to return next to the fire.

Thranduil then moved to continue packing, painfully aware of his hammering heart even minutes later.

  
"Have you ever killed an orc?"

They were walking in silence, the reins in their hands as they led their horses behind them. The air was warm and the winds were stronger the closer they got to the river, but the silence was a gift in the moment. No wonder Thranduil's whole body jerked at the voice, and he snapped his head towards the warrior with a frown.

"Is it important?" he furrowed his brows, confusion obvious on his face. Azadeth chuckled sharply, the sound of his laughter echoing through the woods.

"So you haven't."

"You are wrong," Thranduil all but cut him off with a lie, trying to hide a blush that was fighting its way across his cheeks gradually. "I have killed orcs before. Many orcs, actually."

It was Azadeth's turn to look with utter disbelief, biting back the laughter that kept building inside him. Thranduil knew lying wouldn't take him anywhere, but he would have died first than to let Azadeth laugh at him until the end of his days. Because he was sure the warrior would have done just that, never letting him live it down.

"You do know that our earlier encounter with those orcs doesn't matter, right?" Azadeth asked, his voice dripping with veiled amusement, and Thranduil felt the urge of punching him more than anytime before. He would have never admitted that those orcs were the first he had ever fought, and there were only very few he had seen before that. "You were lying on the ground for half of the fight anyway. Hadn't it been for me, you would be dead, pr-"

"Dare to utter that word and I will cut your tongue out," Thranduil raised one warning finger, and, even though it was completely obvious how Azadeth just teased him, he felt like he would have been able to keep his word.

That little conversation in the morning the day before was not mentioned ever since, but the tension was eased by that afternoon and Thranduil felt pretty content with how things were. Azadeth was actually kinder than on any day before since their journey began, offering him food more than once on the evening and talking about the way his mother and he took before they were ambushed by orcs. Thranduil felt closer to him only a little bit, but it was enough to feel better and not think about cutting the warrior's head off all the time.

Which was considered as an improvement, given how they started out a week ago.

"But seriously, though, you can deny it as much as you want, but you are a prince," Azadeth gestured swiftly with his free hand, but all Thranduil could catch was the blurred image of his black gloves. "You should have learnt how to fight properly. Mounted combat, hand-to-hand combat..."

"I wasn't born to be a prince," Thranduil muttered, unable to hide his annoyance anymore. He was holding the rest back pretty well, though, and he only hoped Azadeth would drop the topic very soon. "And I have learnt all kinds of combats, thank you very much."

Azadeth laughed again, the same challenging chuckle every single time, and Thranduil felt a headache building behind his eyes the longer he heard that sound echoing through his mind and the forest alike.

"Don't take it to heart, but you fight like someone who has never learnt how to do it before," Azadeth looked at him with a grin, letting the reins of his horse go and imitating the prince's movements. It was absolute mockery, every movement seeming like Azadeth was a wee elfling who had never even seen a sword before, and Thranduil felt all his blood rushing to his head. Paired with that grin and the at least two octaves higher sounds, the sight was downright outrageous and Thranduil had to swallow hard so he wouldn't lose his mind immediately. "You miss everything that a warrior needs. Swiftness, unpredictability, the inner ra-"

Thranduil's fist was flying in the air before he could have stopped himself, ready to break one tooth or two when it arrived, but it was met with a hard and steady palm instead. It was impressive how fast Azadeth could react to the attempt, but Thranduil didn't let it go and moved his other arm too, even more quickly than for the first time. Azadeth wasn't surprised this time either, though, and Thranduil's other hand was captured too. The prince panted heavily as he eyed the smirk on that perfect face, but pain soon strained his own when his arms were twisted behind his back and his front was pressed closely against Azadeth's.

It all happened in a fraction of a second that Thranduil realised his lips were barely a breath away from Azadeth's, their eyes boring into each other. Being so near to him again, after so many long years was completely mesmerizing and Thranduil forgot how to breathe for a second, his brain ceasing to function. He stared at his reflection in those eyes, right until his own gaze was drawn down to the warrior's lips instead and he couldn't look away from those.

He was captured, in body and in soul alike.

"You see?" Azadeth muttered, every word sending shivers down Thranduil's spine. His breath was hot, tempting the blond elf more than ever before to taste the lips it escaped from. He could hold himself together, though, focusing on the pain and his heartbeat, the drumming sound in his ears keeping him sane. "That's the inner rage. You just have to aim better next time."

Thranduil felt one of Azadeth's hands disappearing from his wrist, holding his hands together with one hand's long fingers only while the free hand wandered up to touch his chin gently. It was a delicate movement, yet, goosebumps were all over Thranduil's body and his lips parted absentmindedly.

"Aim for the jaw," the warrior whispered, the tip of his nose barely brushing against Thranduil's. "I can already hear the river. Let's move."

He released the prince so suddenly that Thranduil almost fell back, and his only support was Alagos' side where he could lean back for a moment and massage his aching arms. The touch of Azadeth on his wrist was still burning, as well as the spot he stroke on his chin, and Thranduil had to breathe heavily for a moment to regain his composure.

 _That was way too close,_ he thought to himself with daze as he looked after the warrior, walking towards the river as casually as nothing had just happened. There was one good thing in this, though, and Thranduil had to admit it.

He wasn't angry anymore. His groin might have been aching with need, but otherwise, he wasn't angry. And it was one more step towards that so told improvement.

Thranduil managed to catch up with the warrior on the riverbank, the black haired elf tending to his drinking horse already. He cast only one look at Thranduil, a small smile playing on his lips at the sight of the prince's flushed expression, but he didn't torment him for longer. Thranduil, for the first time ever since he met the other elf, felt gratitude towards him, and he gently pulled Alagos to the water and let him drink.

"If my memory doesn't deceive me, Maglor told you something about... not remembering the movements you taught him?" Thranduil asked with furrowed brows, partly out of curiosity, mostly to change the subject and to ease his discomfort. Azadeth still kept packing from one bag to another without really looking at the prince, his expression unreadable. "Were you their teacher of some kind?"

Azadeth chuckled lightly, pulling something on the saddle firmly. Thranduil kept his eyes on him, nonetheless, watching every single movement as if he had had to find his answers from those somehow.

"Hardly," the warrior said, amusement ringing in his voice. "I learned fighting from my father, and I showed Maglor and the twins, Amrod and Amras some of those movements. It can merely be called teaching."

Thranduil found himself smiling at the thought, not really being able to imagine Azadeth with wooden swords and children. It was just simply odd, yet, there was something endearing about it that made him feel warmth in his chest and put a smile on his face.

"What about the rest of the brothers?" Thranduil asked, fueling his own curiosity with his wild imagination, but he could immediately pinpoint the moment when Azadeth's smile changed and he felt his own throat narrowing at the sight. He felt the same as he felt with Gil-galad when he asked about the king's sister. Some people had weak spots, and it seemed Thranduil could immediately find everyone's.

He didn't apologise, though, for Azadeth just finally looked at him, shrugging with a sad half-smile. He tried to hide it though, but Thranduil was able to see through it already.

"Let's say they weren't fond of learning anything from me," he said with naked bitterness, holding Thranduil's gaze firmly. With one hand he was holding onto the saddle, but the other absentmindedly kept stroking his horse's side, gently like a mother would care for her child. It would have given a reason for Thranduil to smile again on any other day, but it was not the moment for that. "They didn't like me."

It was odd to hear him talk about himself, Thranduil had to admit it. Azadeth had always kept his secrets to himself, including his life and his past, and to actually know things about him was fascinating. Thranduil's disdain towards him was decreasing gradually, for the more he saw how even the warrior had feelings the more sympathy he felt for him, the closer he wished to get. Therefore, he couldn't just stand by and watch that sad expression, even though he knew very well Azadeth would come back to his usual self sooner or later. Probably sooner.

"Maybe you kept calling them 'prince' as well," Thranduil offered with a challenging smile, immediately drawing a hearty laugh from Azadeth. The warrior slowly started to walk around his horse, approaching Thranduil with long but aimless steps, and he held his gaze on the ground, his locks falling in his face. "You don't know how annoying it can be."

"It might come as a surprise, but that's why I keep calling you that," Azadeth looked up with lips pressed together, false regret spread on his face. Thranduil let out a huff of breath, folding his arms in front of his chest.

"To make my life a misery?" Thranduil raised one eyebrow, tilting his head to the side with curiosity. It was one of the rare moments when they could simply talk and laugh at each other without anger or disappointment. These were light moments with nothing to worry about, and Thranduil didn't know when was the last time he felt so free. "You either like torturing me or you simply like to see me embarassed."

"I have never denied the latter," the warrior shrugged, earning a slight gape from the prince. "It is quite endearing when you do that."

Thranduil felt the whole weight of the world on his eyelashes as he blushed again, but he would have been damned to look away or let him get away with it so easily. His heart was pounding heavily in his chest but he completely ignored it and kept trying to come up with the best response.

"You might find it endearing, but it is utterly rude and unacceptable to treat me like this, even though I... What are you looking at?"

Azadeth was paying attention for a while, a playful smirk spread on his lips while Thranduil spoke complete nonsense in order to protect himself, but, all of a sudden, he was staring more behind the prince's back than at him. It wasn't difficult to notice where the warrior was looking, but once the blond elf turned around, he was shocked at what he saw.

There were men on horses and with hounds, some of them holding long spears while others had their swords drawn on the other side of the river. The water was flowing wide and fast, but it didn't keep the prince from seeing every single detail.

These were the men of Arnor, and they were on a patrol.

"Two lone elves on our borders," one of them called out, the tallest of the seven. They were young and slightly bearded, fierce and a force Thranduil most certainly didn't count on. His heart was beating rapidly for an absolutely different reason now, and he swallowed hard as he took a look at Azadeth from the corner of his eye. The warrior seemed to be deep in his thoughts, probably thinking on how to escape as well, and Thranduil honestly hoped the black haired elf would be more successful in coming up with anything than him. "Are there others, too?"

Thranduil hoped Azadeth would answer, but the other was standing motionless for long seconds and the silence was drawing tense already. He didn't have any other choice than to answer.

"No, it's just us," he managed to say without his voice failing him, but he was cursing every single power on Arda for not giving him the gift of speaking to Azadeth on mind level. He would have loved to tell him a few things, mostly how useless he was right now. And it really wasn't the best timing. "We are from the kingdom of Gil-galad. We came to hunt."

The tall man eyed them for a while, especially Azadeth who had fallen into strange quietness. Thranduil had never felt so anxious before in his entire life, the urge to elbow the warrior between his ribs growing ever stronger. It was the worst place to freeze, and Thranduil knew that one wrong word would have given them away immediately. These men were the friends of Gil-galad, and the prince really hoped they wouldn't recognise him.

"You came really far and these are indeed gameless woods so close to the mountains," the man continued, dismounting his horse and pushing back his sword into its scabbard. Thranduil immediately felt relieved once the others had followed his example, putting their weapons away. They never left their horses, though. The man who spoke came closer to the stream and a smile played on his lips as he spoke again. "Come and take some time off in Annúminas. King Elendil will be overjoyed to have you as his guests, and our forests hold the tastiest fawns in Middle-earth."

The polite objection was already forming in Thranduil's mind, trying to find a good reason why they couldn't accept the invitation, but Azadeth seemed to find his voice sooner and he smiled brightly.

"We gladly go with you to your marvellous city, Man of Arnor."

Thranduil tried to stare in a low key but he failed miserably. He was glad the men didn't have the sharp eyes of elves, for they surely would have found it strange the way Thranduil was gaping at the older elf. There was something unreadable in Azadeth's eyes as he turned to cast a quick glance at the blond elf, as if to tell him to keep quiet and not start panicking.

It was pretty hard, to say the least.

"Pass the river at the bridge to the south, my men shall be waiting for you there," the man mounted his horse again, waiting until Azadeth nodded and waved to sign them to go, then they were gone in a second. Thranduil kept staring after them for a while, his jaw still hanging from what had just happened, but when he turned to Azadeth to demand some kind of explanation, the elf was already preparing his horse again.

Thranduil didn't even try to restrain himself as he marched over to the black haired elf, his mouth slowly going dry the longer he kept it open.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" he asked on a voice not actually far from hysteric, but Azadeth just smiled with excitement as he kept pulling on the saddle. "They might have not recognised me, but once I set my foot in Annúminas, everyone will know who I am! They will surely know of my runaway, and they will send me back to Lindon!"

"What do you know of these men?"

Azadeth was looking at him expectantly, as if he hadn't even heard Thranduil's rant only a few seconds ago, and the prince snorted with disbelief. Azadeth was on the shortest way to earn one of Thranduil's miserable punches again, even though the prince was fairly sure he wouldn't succeed this time either. It didn't ease the urge, though. If anything, the thought of being pressed against the warrior was quite attracting, despite his strange behaviour all over again.

And after realising this, Thranduil couldn't decide whether he wanted to punch Azadeth or, in reality, he just wanted to punch himself. He might have come to his senses then, at least.

"Why is that important now?" the prince asked with complete exasperation, but Azadeth only laughed shortly and kept looking into his eyes without a blink.

"Just answer."

Another desperate sigh and a few eyerolls later Thranduil managed to make himself recall everything he had ever learnt about the Men of Arnor, which was not a really ancient history, given the Downfall of Númenor was not wholly one hundred and fifty years ago. It felt like it all happened yesterday, the corrupting of those men and their straight way to doom. These men came to Middle-earth then, and Elendil became a close friend of Gil-galad, settling down in this area to rule his own kingdom.

There was not much to know, and Thranduil shrugged with confusion.

"Is there anything in particular you wish to know, or-"

"For Manwë's sake," Azadeth raised his voice ever so slightly, cutting Thranduil off mid-sentence. The prince blinked and stared, still not understanding what the other actually wanted from him. "This is the result if you sleep with your eyes closed for too long. They own one of the Palantiri!"

The last sentence somehow didn't make it to the process, for Thranduil raised his chin proudly again, ready to give a lecture on why it was another useless insult and why Azadeth should try to think before speaking. The first word was actually on the tip of his tongue already, but he never managed to speak of it for, all of a sudden, Azadeth's palm was pressed against his lips, silencing him and leaving him with one finger raised in the air, rendering him motionless. The warmth of the touch washed over his whole body, covering him with goosebumps from his toes to the top of his head, but he tried to stay still and just look at Azadeth with surprised blinks.

"Before you lead yourself on with your little monologue, I repeat: they have one of the Palantiri," Azadeth spoke with utter tenderness, his voice flowing like silk in the small space between them. Thranduil would have actually been able to count the warrior's eyelashes, but he was too busy staring at his lips instead, burning every movement into his memory. Azadeth's free hand then came up to capture Thranduil's in the air, his fingers wrapping around the prince's gently as he pulled the blond elf's arm lower, letting it hang by his side. "It means I can look into it and immediately tell where my mother is."

Recognition must have kindled in Thranduil's eyes for, to his biggest regret, Azadeth pulled his hand back and stepped farther with a small smile. Thranduil still felt dazed from the sudden touch, though, trying to keep himself from licking his lips as an immediate reaction, so he just stared at an irrelevant point on Azadeth's chest and nodded reluctantly.

"It's a beautiful plan indeed," he looked up at Azadeth, only to be met with the proudest smiles of all, but he didn't let himself get distracted and continued. "Except that I still don't understand how does it change the fact that I will be locked into a room until the search parties reach the city and then I will be violently dragged back to Lindon where everyone will judge me for being the worst prince of all times."

There was a half-chuckle escaping from Azadeth as he mounted his horse, ready to follow the instructions the men gave them, and Thranduil had to step back if he didn't want to get overriden.

"Have you met the king personally?"

The prince tried to keep himself from completely becoming hysteric and he thought instead, attempting to remember even one occasion where King Elendil might have seen him face to face, close enough so he would recognise him. His conclusion didn't ease his mind, though, but Azadeth didn't really need an answer. He stared down at Thranduil expectingly, the knowing smile on his face yelling for a great punch already.

"Have you ever met his sons in person, then?"

Thranduil would have loved to object, to say anything that would have been useful to convince the warrior what a completely foolish way they were going to head, but nothing came into his mind and he was left gaping like a fish. It seemed it was the exact thing Azadeth was counting on, for he just pulled back the reins on his horse and took a deep, dramatic breath.

"Mount your horse. The men are waiting."

The warrior moved his horse to rack, the animal moving elegantly farther and farther until Thranduil realised he was being left behind.

And if anything, his worry for this particular part of the trip was growing ever so strongly with every moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay, I had this huge writer's block and I had to fight it off. I might be able to write now, after taking this break. I really hope you liked this chapter, I try not to disappoint you with the rest! :3


	6. Hope For The Hopeless, Faith For The Unfaithful

The clouds of darkness at the South, the bright colour of orange at the West, the whole sky lit up with the setting sun.   
  
It was the sight that welcomed Thranduil once he emerged from the bathtub, his locks braided together and hanging over his shoulder as he put the plush robe on. It was cool against his now completely clear skin, and his bare feet left wet footprints on the marble floor. He felt exhaustion overwhelming him more and more with every step while he walked towards the mirror on the wall. It was a sedate room with only things one would need the most, but it was enough for Thranduil's needs. He could take a bath and there was a bed to sleep in - it was everything he wished for in the last week.  
  
He gently ran his fingers over his braid, examining himself in the mirror. His face seemed more wearied than when they set out on their journey, Azadeth and him, but Thranduil guessed it was understandable. He had never been so far from home without anyone knowing where he was, and he had never worried so much for his mother. It showed on the lines of his face: between his eyebrows, and at the corners of his mouth. He gave his reflection a faint smile, though, blinking with heavy eyelids.  
  
Annúminas, city of the men of Arnor. It was completely different from Lindon, and it would have never been able to outshine the beauty of Menegroth, but it was majestic on its own way, half of the city on the lake Evendim, and the another half on land. As Thranduil walked to the balcony, inhaling the fresh, warm winds of the North, he could see not the lake but the busy streets instead. Tall trees, higher than most of the towers of the palace stretched towards the sky, birds sang and basked in the sunlight, loud people laughed and bantered with each other. It was a crowd that Thranduil had seldom seen before, if he had seen anything like this at all, and he smiled as he looked upon the maelstrom of people.  
  
Elves he knew would have never been able to behave like this. They preferred whispered words and wisdom over a joke and the laughter that followed after, and seeing such different scores of people amazed him. Hadn't he been too afraid of getting recognised, he would have gone amongst them, got to know them. But on that evening all he was allowed was to stand there, leaning on the parapet and watch, listen, observe.   
  
It was mere seconds later that Thranduil heard the children's laughter for the first time. It was almost lost in the sound of the crowd, the noises of the market a bit farther up the street, but it didn't cease to catch the blond elf's attention again and again, right until he found them with his eyes as well.  
  
And he was truly surprised at the sight.  
  
Four or five children must have stood in the shadow of a smaller oak, all of them around one black haired and dark clothed elf who held the smallest of them all on his arm. Thranduil couldn't resist his body's immediate reaction and he straightened, blinking with lips slightly parted in awe. Azadeth was talking to them on a language Thranduil didn't understand, and the children laughed, reaching towards the elf to hold them too. The warrior tickled some of them, listening to them keenly with a grin Thranduil hadn't seen on his face before, and the prince caught himself smiling with fondness.  
  
So he has a weak spot after all, he thought to himself as he held onto the parapet. Azadeth knelt then, talking to each of the children seperately before ruffling their hair and tickling them occasionally. The smallest one was already growing restless by then, demanding to be raised high again, and Azadeth obeyed him with a smirk, throwing the little boy into the air and then catching him safely. The boy was screaming with laughter and so did the others, jumping around Azadeth and begging him to do the same.  
  
"Is he your friend?"  
  
Thranduil somewhere along the way must have stopped paying attention to one of the children, for a blonde girl was suddenly pointing at him with huge, wondering eyes. The others, including Azadeth followed her direction, and, once every pair of eyes was staring at him, the prince felt all of his blood rushing into his cheeks.  
  
He entertained the thought of simply turning around and retreating to his room, but he found it in himself not to move anywhere. He felt like his feet were rooted in the marble stones underneath him, and even the cunning smile of Azadeth wasn't able to push him out of his daze. The warrior eyed him for long moments, resulting in Thranduil's heartbeat growing quick in his chest, but the black haired elf suddenly put down the child on his arm and tickled him gently for the last time.  
  
"He is nothing of the sort," he winked, more at Thranduil than at the kids, then he started walking towards the middle of the street where he stopped. He pressed his palms together, taking up a position as if he was about to run, but he just turned to the children and gave them a knowing half-smile. "Watch this, ladies and lords of Arnor."  
  
The children started giggling at that, but, as well as Thranduil they stared with their jaws hanging when Azadeth started running towards the wall of the tower and climbed it with a few easy movements. He hung at the bottom of the balcony for a few moments, earning clapping and excited noises from his 'audience', but he soon managed to sit on the parapet and stare at the blond elf with a triumphant smile.  
  
"You can start climbing that tree for starter!" he shouted down, pointing at the oak behind the kids before turning back to Thranduil and sighing deeply. "Rascals. How long have you been staring now, robed queen of the bows?"  
  
Thranduil couldn't hold back the chuckle, doesn't matter how much he wanted to, but he tore his eyes from the warrior sitting not even an arm's length far from him, eyeing the kids on the street instead. They were trying to climb that tree hard, even though the branches weren't too high. It was a small tree, and Azadeth was smart to tell them to climb only that and not a higher one. It wouldn't have grown the hospitality towards them had any of those kids broken their necks an hour after the elves arrived.  
  
"Since when are you so soft when it comes to children?" Thranduil asked with a small smile on his face, still staring at the parapet instead of Azadeth. He still felt his cheeks hot and his knees slightly trembling, but, underneath the long white robe no one could tell except Thranduil himself.  
  
"Soft? Do I look soft?" Azadeth laughed with false disbelief, shaking his head dramatically. "I won't have you saying that about me, it ruins my reputation."  
  
The prince couldn't help looking up at that, all of his emotions written clearly on his face. Azadeth held his composure, though, and the half-grin stayed the same on his lips.  
  
"Your what?" Thranduil laughed and was only answered with a shrug. Azadeth sat on the narrow parapet with absolute surety, dangling his legs against the white, carefully curved wall of the balcony like a child.  
  
"I earned it through sweat and blood, trust me. This is the generation that lives to tell my name to the world: Azadeth the great, taught us how to climb and changed our lives on that fateful day."  
  
The blond elf was laughing heartily now, barely believing what he was hearing. Azadeth was completely different now, carefree and taking Thranduil seriously for the first time ever since they met. The prince finally felt like his equal and not just an attachment, a plus person to swing a sword. He felt like a proper companion, and it turned him eased as well, just enjoying the moment and never worrying about the past, nor the future. And it was relieving, realising that.  
  
"Seriously, it was only a moment of weakness," Azadeth put on his serious voice, but obvious mischief was ringing somewhere in it that placed a grin on Thranduil's face, a kind that couldn't be wiped so easily. "I hate children. They are annoying."  
  
"Oh yes, you looked so annoyed I was worried for you a little bit," Thranduil joined the game and started nodding with pouting lips. "Although, I was more worried about the children, because you looked like you were about to kill them."  
  
It was Azadeth's turn to chuckle, but he kept his eyes on Thranduil and a soft expression spread on his face the longer he looked at him. Thranduil felt like the warrior was trying to read his mind, the same way Galadriel tried to do so many times in the past, with the only difference that the Lady of Lórien managed to do it and Azadeth seemed to fail. He felt naked under that look, nevertheless, and he turned away his gaze again, staring at the sunset with a shy smile.  
  
"Do you know where the Palantir is?" Thranduil broke the tensed silence after a while, clearing his throat shortly before looking at Azadeth again. He shrugged with his lips pressed together, spreading his arms to both directions and Thranduil tried not to laugh at that expression.  
  
"I am taking a wild guess, but that tower in front of you looks pretty guarded to me," he tilted his head to look at the prince with knowing eyes, pointing behind his back without turning around. Thranduil raised his eyebrows in surprise, looking at the tower not too far from them, and he indeed saw the guards at its bottom and on the top as well. It looked like a temple at first, probably hiding a long staircase with many floors behind its walls, but a temple wouldn't be guarded such as this building. Thranduil nodded with admiration, earning a proud grin from Azadeth right away. "You see, it took me three seconds to find it."  
  
Thranduil resisted the urge to pull out his tongue at him and he just frowned instead. It soon turned into a smile holding false pretense, sighing deeply with exasperation.  
  
"And how do you plan to take it?"  
  
Azadeth snorted shortly.  
  
"I won't take it, I will just look into it," he corrected the prince with one finger held up pedantly, making Thranduil raise one eyebrow. "I will sneak inside at night, no one will see me. And if they happen to see me anyway, they shouldn't have waken this morning."  
  
"You are not going to hurt anyone, understood?" Thranduil snapped immediately, speaking on his threatening tone, but he didn't hope too much that it would work. It didn't work on anyone, and Azadeth most certainly wouldn't be an exception.  
  
"You worry too much, princess," Azadeth smiled fondly, leaning closer to the prince but he pushed him away with a chuckle full of disbelief, and the warrior started grinning. "It doesn't suit you."  
  
Thranduil looked at the children, still trying to climb that tree without giving up, and he shook his head with a smile. Azadeth truly must have been a great inspiration for them, considering the way they were attempting to stay on those branches for longer than a few seconds.  
  
"What suits me then?" he asked absentmindedly, taking a deep breath when he looked back at Azadeth, only to be met with the same knowing look as earlier.  
  
"Freedom," Azadeth said quietly, earning a surprised look from Thranduil immediately. The warrior's face didn't change, remaining the same with that unreadable smile on it still as he continued. "You are not prince material, son of Oropher. You were born to live freely, without bonds, without expectations and responsibilities. Duties for you are like chains for a game or broken wings for a bird. You will eventually lose who you are and become someone else, someone you are not. It is a life full of misery, and you fear it more than anything."  
  
No one had ever put it into words before, probably that is why Thranduil felt his heart suddenly hammering madly and his lips going dry. He stared at the warrior without a single twitch of his face, the words burning into his mind with the worst of pains Thranduil had ever felt. It brought tears into his eyes, but he blinked them away swiftly, not giving them the chance to be noticed.  
  
Every night before falling asleep, these very things came into his mind. Not a day passed without the prince fearing the future, fearing the bonds that awaited him, fretting for himself whenever he saw his father's crown in front of his closed eyelids. Those antlers reached for the sky, placing him above everything and everyone else, showing how noble he was. His throne, his elk, his rings and his raiments... Everything was so alien for Thranduil that he shuddered at the mere thought, dismissing the images immediately. He swore so many times how he would never be like that had it come to him becoming king, but he wished he would never have to keep his word.  
  
He wished his father would live forever and Thranduil would never have to be king. He wished for peace and denied to see the war around them, hoping for these moments to stretch and never pass. Even now he chose not to see the fear in the men's eyes, the soldiers readying themselves on the streets and the women crying for their sons and husbands. He chose only to see the happy ones, the children, those without fear, those who were akin to him.  
  
Now it dawned on him, though, and he found himself holding the parapet more tightly, his fingertips whitening at the words of the warrior. Azadeth managed to read him anyway.  
  
"What should I do?" Thranduil whispered, his words almost lost in the sounds of the city. He was staring at his hands, still feeling Azadeth's eyes on him without a moment of stop. "How can I escape it without abandoning anyone?"  
  
"You can't."  
  
There was obvious fear on his face when he looked up to see Azadeth, and Thranduil knew it too. He didn't try to hide it anymore, though - he felt too lost for that. He blinked with watery eyes instead, longing to hear a different answer, one that he would have loved to hear, but Azadeth's face held more sadness than sympathetic smile. And it slowly killed Thranduil inside.  
  
"If you choose to live a free life, you will abandon your family and your people," Azadeth continued, his voice low and his words gentle. "But if you choose your place as a prince and later on as a king-"  
  
"I will abandon myself," Thranduil finished the thought on his own bitter way, letting his head hang low as he eyed his hands again. He could see the shadow of the night moving lower and lower on his arm as the Sun disappeared behind the trees and the mountains, taking her light with her. It felt as if the air got colder in the fraction of a second, sending cool shivers down on Thranduil's spine with every easy blow of a wind. His body was throbbing in the same rythym as his heart, the sound of the beats louder and louder in his ear as the seconds passed-  
  
Right until they ceased to exist. Because Thranduil's heart stopped for a long moment when he felt a hot palm on his own hand, gently wrapping it and warming it inside and outside alike.  
  
He didn't dare to look up at first, waiting for the moment to break and for him to wake in daze, reality proving once more that he was only but a dreamer and nothing like this could ever happen. But the touch never disappeared, and, if anything, it only tightened around his hand, and Thranduil stopped breathing.  
  
Then, he looked up. And Azadeth was smiling now, the smile on his face a kind Thranduil had never seen before, and he blinked in awe. He finally realised it was trust that led him to speak the truth, to talk about the biggest fear of his life, and once this realisation hit him, it nearly blew a hole in his chest. Because finally, Azadeth had earned his trust, despite everything that happened between them, and it swept away the last remnants of the blond elf's disdain towards the warrior.  
  
He was already regaining his composure when he pulled his hand away, hiding a small, happy smile that tried to break through his mask of shock. The moment ended and yet, it was there still, putting something like a spell on Thranduil as he turned around and enjoyed the warmth that spread in his chest.  
  
"We should prepare for dinner," he uttered, his voice still trembling slightly as he spoke, but he never looked at Azadeth again before he walked back into his room, leaving the warrior behind.  
  
Maybe he had no reason to be afraid anyway. Maybe destiny was in work, and maybe, just maybe she would make him happy, even if for only a little while. For now, he was certainly happy.  
  
  
"What was your name you fine boy? Forgive an old man, my memory is not as it was in the old days."  
  
Thranduil looked up with surprise, not quite expecting anyone addressing him. He was led into the great hall ceremoniously and was seated only a couple men far from the king himself. No one spoke to him ever since, and he was already thinking no one would even notice him, which would have come pretty useful. The men around the table in the sumptuous hall talked to each other loudly, laughing and bantering, and the King of Arnor wasn't an exception either. Thranduil would have exchanged Lindon's feasts to this cheerful gathering on any other day. On that evening, though, his anxiousness was greater than his desire to live among people who were not afraid to speak their mind, and he was eating in silence.  
  
Right until now. For the men around him grew silent at their king's words, and Elendil was looking at him curiously.  
  
"I am, uhm," Thranduil stuttered, trying to regain his composure and placing his fork on the table. He attempted to hide the trembling of his hand, but he could only hope no one had seen it before he pulled it back into his lap. He stared down with fluttering eyelids, trying to remember his fake name. "I am Estelon, son of Esteleth, Your Majesty."  
  
Elendil seemed to remember it now, raising his eyebrows in recognition as he took a small tomato in his mouth. He was a several heads taller than most of the men sitting close to him, even while sitting, and his exceptional height made him look less aged than how he actually was. He was probably the tallest man Thranduil had ever seen, but there was some sort of kindness glimmering in his eyes that made the prince feel no distrust towards him. After all, despite his own carefulness, he was safe here.  
  
 _Too safe._ And that was the problem.  
  
"You sure seem familiar to me," the king looked up, everyone still sitting in silence around him. Thranduil swallowed hard, taking a deep breath to control his raging heart somewhat. "How long have you been dwelling in Lindon, Estelon?"  
  
"Ever since it was founded, my Lord," Thranduil answered as politely as he could, still keeping his eyes down. "We lived in exile after the Sack of Doriath, then were taken under the wings of the King Gil-galad."  
  
There were murmurs around the room, quietly exchanged words under huge beards, and, for the first time during the dinner, Thranduil looked up straight at the king. Elendil was looking at him with a soft smile, holding his cup in his hand absentmindedly.  
  
"You arrived with another elf, one with black hair, am I right?"  
  
All of the world's willpower wouldn't have been enough to answer with words, therefore, Thranduil simply nodded and picked up his fork to force one more bite down his throat. It wasn't the thought of Azadeth alone that numbed him so, but rather the fear that the warrior's master plan wouldn't work out the way they intended. And then, they would be knee deep in trouble, that was sure. One wrong word could have given both of them away, for, while Thranduil was trying to give Azadeth as much time as he could, the warrior wasn't in his room simply resting. He was after the Palantir, and Thranduil knew he wasn't done yet.  
  
He needed to pull this conversation as long as he possibly could.  
  
"He was really tired after our journey, and he had done most of the hunting in the last few days," Thranduil sipped from his cup, nervously but trying his best to seem natural. "He is really sorry he couldn't join us and accept your generous offer to eat at your table."  
  
"Now, now," Elendil laughed heartily, setting a piece of meat aside on his plate to look at Thranduil while leaning forwards slightly. "I do understand, a long trip exhausts even those who endure an awful lot. Which brings me to another question... Where is Isildur?"  
  
Murmuring had awaken around the table, the king looking pointedly at one man sitting right at his right. The said man wiped his mouth swiftly, clearing his throat before speaking.  
  
"In his room, my Lord. He wished not to join in the feast tonight," he said, drawing a deep sigh from Elendil.   
  
"Make sure to take him a rich plate of food, Abanthon," the king commanded, his tone light as he looked back at one servant over his shoulder. The boy was young and he nodded, heading most likely to the kitchens to prepare food for the prince.  
  
 _I wonder if Isildur sometimes feel the same as I do,_ Thranduil thought to himself, raising one eyebrow. It was a movement barely visible to men's eyes, but he straightened his face once the king turned back to continue eating with a small headshake.  
  
"A shadow has fallen upon him since the burning of the White Tree," Elendil murmured, cutting his meat into small bits until there was nothing to cut anymore and he stopped his hands, just staring down at his plate, motionless. It was a strange sight, seeing all that kindness gone from the ancient face, and Thranduil watched with care, surprised to see the king looking up at him slowly. "The people feel it and they fear it. It is coming for all of us, and there is no one to save us this time. After the Downfall, no Vala would have mercy on our souls, son of Esteleth. Your friend will rest no more if the Alliance fails. We will be but the slaves of the darkness."  
  
Thranduil swallowed hard and the air palpably tensed in the room at the words. Everyone knew the truth, but it was one thing to be aware of it and never talk of it. It was another to hear it from someone you gave all your hope to, someone who was meant to warm your faith when it grew cold. Hoping alone was hard during these days, but holding onto false desires was even harder.  
  
No wonder Elendil soon realised what he was talking about and he cleared his throat, dropping one piece of meat in his mouth and chewing at it with a forced smile.  
  
"You were brave to come so close to darkness despite the heeding of your king to not leave Lindon," he took a deep breath, trying to ease the atmosphere and change the subject. The men shifted on their seats and the king raised his eyebrows in curiosity. "What weapon do you wield, Estelon?"  
  
Thranduil felt the slightest bit like waking from a dream and he bit a small bite from the bread before answering.  
  
"A bow, my Lord," he answered easier than for the first time, wrapping his fingers around his cup and smelling the wine without anyone noticing. It was far from the sweet scent of Dorwinion wine, but he guessed it was for the better if he could keep his head clear now.  
  
"You must have a sword as well, for sure," the king continued with something knowing ringing out of his voice, making Thranduil unsettled again as he looked up into the ancient blue eyes of the Númenórean. "These are dangerous times and dangerous lands. You would be a fool to leave your house without proper weapons, take no offense."  
  
The men around him started chuckling as they drank from their glasses, but Thranduil allowed himself only a tensed smile as he wrapped his fingers around his sword and unsheathed it. It was a bright, long sword, regularly taken care of, even though they were on the road for long days now. He cleaned it with care every night, given that it was the gift of Gil-galad. He would have never neglected it.  
  
One of the servants was there to take the sword from him and deliver it to the king, Elendil wiping his hands quickly in a napkin and pushing his chair back ever so slightly so he could hold the sword more easily. It seemed like he had done this for his whole life, wielding this sword, and the expression on his face was only confirming this. He stood and moved forward with perfect movements, turning his wrist and the sword with it with perfect momentum. Everyone watched with amusement, the tall king smiling fondly as he eyed the weapon.  
  
"It is an exceptional sword," Elendil nodded with admiration, running his fingers over the sword carefully. He had a huge hand with long fingers, and Thranduil looked for a ring on it, in vain. He wasn't sentimental, then. "It reminds me of one that I had my smith make back in the early years of Arnor. I have given it to the King Gil-galad for his rare and greatly appreciated generosity towards me and my men. He told me he would know a better place for it, and I told him to do with the sword as he pleases."  
  
Tensed silence fell on the room and Thranduil stared, his heart desperately hammering in his chest, its pace only growing with every second. It wasn't supposed to go like this. He wasn't supposed to be revealed, not now. And he most certainly wasn't supposed to be revealed like this, out of his own stupidity.  
  
He didn't have to think for too long to see Azadeth's face in front of his closed eyelids, and, somewhere deep in his heart, he was glad the warrior wasn't around to kill him with his glare. He was dying without it already.  
  
The day Gil-galad presented the sword to Thranduil several men were visiting Forlindon, perhaps some seventy years ago. The king came into the prince's room before dinner, surprising the blond elf with his presence. Thranduil was undoing his braids, but Gil-galad waved him off when he started standing up.  
  
"I won't bother you for long, my boy," he smiled at Thranduil's slight embarassment, then took the sword from behind his back and laid it down on the prince's bed. Thranduil stared with the mix of amazement and confusion, and he could immediately tell the sword was a rare one. It wasn't forged by elves, unknown patterns adorning its silver scabbard as it glimmered in the light of the candles. "Wield it with wisdom. I was given this sword by someone I hold dear as a friend, but I decided to pass it on to someone that I also hold dear. Do not shed blood unless it's necessary, Thranduil."  
  
Now everything seemed to fall into place. The sword was given to Gil-galad by Elendil, and the prince was foolish enough to never ask about it.  
  
It was the result.  
  
"My younger son, Anárion made its scabbard, I assume you have that as well," Elendil's smile grew ever so slightly. Thranduil sat motionlessly, not even brave enough to breathe, so he just eyed the king with his unreadable expression and tried to find a possible way to escape this disaster. Things weren't exactly going the way he wanted them to go, to say the least. "I took the liberty to have some Númenórean words engraved into it instead of Quenya or Sindarin. I was sure Gil-galad wouldn't have minded, and he hadn't."  
  
Thranduil swallowed and looked down at the scabbard hanging on his sword-belt. So the 'unknown patterns' were Númenórean words. It made the sword even more special, given how rarely the men of Númenor used their ancient tongue, preferring Sindarin or Quenya most of the time. The longer this conversation elongated the more stupid Thranduil felt, and he wished only for this tension to finally end. For a plan.  
  
For _anything._  
  
"So," Elendil continued on his light tone, slowly sitting back on his chair and entwining his fingers in his lap, holding the sword on his thighs. There was something in his eyes that Thranduil couldn't put his finger on, but the smile on his lips seemed the slightest bit dangerous and the prince felt a cold shiver running down on his spine that shook his whole body. "I only dare to ask here and now because we are with friends in this room and all of these people are to be trusted... Why would the Prince of Greenwood escape from his home and come to Annúminas? Tell me, Prince Thranduil, for my curiosity is killing me already."  
  
Thranduil would have loved to stand and run by now, to never look back again. He wanted to leave this hall, to leave these men so he wouldn't have to explain what no one save for Azadeth could understand. That whenever he heard the word 'prince' he felt sick to his stomach and wanted to die; that whenever someone looked at him with expectations and then with utter disappointment, he wanted to sink into the fiery depths of Arda. None of these men would have understood, and now he sat there without a proper explanation.  
  
His only chance was to keep silent and wait for their reaction, and that is what he had done. He waited with his eyes fixed on the table, taking short and rapid breaths to ease his heartbeat.  
  
"Come now, my boy," the king laughed, but the fact that only his voice was audible in the room made everything even more tensed than how it originally was. "I have heard only good of you so far. I was shocked by the tidings that you have run away with someone, that special someone must be your black haired companion. We are nothing compared to you in age, but I can tell you, you and I are much alike. I wasn't born to be a king and my sons weren't born to be princes. I am not of royal lineages, I have never dreamt of shining cups and thrones and a kingdom to rule by myself. But once it became clear I had to flee my homeland, I knew what would await me. Yet, I never let my father down. There is no reason to abandon your family just because you are afraid. Your mother is devastated, my boy."  
  
Thranduil slowly looked up, blinking with concern as he met the eyes of the king. He knew these tactics way too well. Elendil would have never been able to manipulate Thranduil by using his mother as an excuse, however, for the prince himself had fought his own conscience countless times in the last week, he managed to convince himself that Aerithil would survive without him for a little bit longer. It wasn't a question anymore.  
  
There was something else, though, that Elendil surely didn't expect Thranduil to notice. The elf could immediately tell that the servant who took the sword from him earlier was missing from the room, and the look on the king's face combined with the boy's sudden disappearance had implied one thing only.  
  
The search parties were already alerted on the whereabouts of the prince. Which meant that Thranduil had to leave as soon as possible.  
  
He could have been unexperienced in the field of battles and orcs, but he could tell when he stood no chance against someone. And this hall was full of armed guards and men who wielded swords, some of them even bows. He would have never been able to leave the room without anyone taking notice or trying to stop him, so he had to come up with something else.  
  
Thranduil had to lie. Preferably better than how he lied so far.  
  
"I see no reason to speak false things from now on, then," he sighed resignedly, shaking his head as he looked down at his plate, staring at the half-eaten meat there. "I came to terms with my own foolishness once I entered this kingdom. I knew surely I would have to lie, and I didn't come on this trip for that. I seeked adventure, I was childish and... Once we were attacked by orcs earlier I realised how much I still have to learn.  
  
"I understand what you mean, my Lord," he continued, looking up with deep worry in his eyes. "Responsibilities are hard to bear, and just as you said, I wasn't born to be a prince. Is it such a great sin to seek freedom? I see now that it is. For whenever I think of my mother... I feel guilt crushing me, guilt you have never felt in your long years, Your Majesty. Guilt you can never possibly imagine."  
  
He played so well that he managed to mislead everyone around the table, the king included. Even he would have believed himself on any other day, but all he could think of now was to retreat to his room, escape and find Azadeth somehow. If he had managed to do it quickly, they would have been able to be out of there in an hour, even without a horse, way before the elves would have found them.  
  
"I want to go home," he put and end on his monologue with his most convincing lost expression, and even his eyes started watering at the words.  
  
 _Flawless,_ he praised himself, holding back a small smile. A part of him was absolutely outraged, seeing now how Azadeth managed to corrupt him into using such tricks on people who meant no harm to him. But, then again, he had done all this for Azadeth, and this realisation alone was worth the indignation of his decent self.  
  
There was long silence in the room for a few moments, the king obviously trying to solve him through narrowed eyes. Thranduil, however, showed no sign of deceiving him, still keeping his mask on his face straight, and Elendil had no chance than to sigh deeply and lean back on his chair heavily.  
  
"It is not my place to punish you. Your father and mother shall do it later, I am sure of that," he massaged his temple with two fingers, leaning against the armrest with his elbow. "What you have done was indeed foolish, Thranduil, but I already sent out word for the searching parties to come and collect you here."  
  
The 'relief' of the prince was tangible and many of the men smiled. Thranduil could even catch words as 'children' and 'poor upbringing', but he took note on naught and kept his eyes on the king only.  
  
"I assume you wish to alert your companion on your leave," Elendil suggested, his statement sounding more like a question, and Thranduil nodded, perhaps a bit too quick and enthusiastic even.  
  
"I would be grateful for that, my Lord," Thranduil said carefully and was gifted with a wave of Elendil's hand. Two guards were on the move, then, opening the door for him as the prince stood and bowed in front of the now standing king. "Thank you for the delicious meal and your generosity, Your Majesty. I owe my greatest apologies for lying to you, especially in front of your subjects, and-"  
  
"Not another word," Elendil placed one hand upon Thranduil's shoulder, and the blond elf looked up with surprise, straightening slowly. He was still a bit smaller than Elendil, but he could comfortably look into his eyes and see the kind smile spread on the king's lips. "You can remain young for a little longer, but hold onto your family, my boy. No one knows how long you can stay by their side, especially in such darkness."  
  
Then, the king offered his hand with Thranduil's sword between his fingers, and the prince took it carefully, his grip becoming firmer as Elendil let go of his hold on the hilt. Thranduil then pushed the blade back into its sheath with one steady movement, giving a small smile to the king before nodding at him and then passing him to leave.  
  
One guard escorted him through the long corridors, the palace now silent of loud banters and children's laughter. It was a quiet and clear night, the stars shining brightly above their heads as they crossed the streets to reach the other wing. Thranduil could already see his balcony, and he just guessed he could manage to escape there without breaking his neck. All his belongings were with Azadeth for precautionary reasons, just in case something happened that would force them to flee quickly.  
  
Well, it was the perfect example for a case such as that.  
  
They soon reached the corridor where Thranduil's room was, and the prince stood with a great sigh, looking back at the guard. The man had the most serious face Thranduil had ever seen, not speaking a word during the whole walk, but it didn't take the elf's courage away.  
  
"I will just pick up my belongings, I will be quick," Thranduil promised as he slipped through the door. He was just about to close it when the guard managed to put his foot between the wall and the door, earning a surprised look from the elf right away.  
  
"Keep it open," the guard ordered on a dry tone, and it was the first time the prince had heard him speaking. It was a clear command, and Thranduil felt something itching behind his skull.  
  
He had two possible choices. He could either knock out this monstrous, huge man and escape, or he could escape in front of his eyes. And, given that he wasn't in the mood to run faster than how he was ought to, he thought it would be fair to go with the former.  
  
 _Aim for the jaw. Find your inner rage._  
  
Azadeth's words were echoing in his head as he eyed the man in front of him, the black haired guard visibly growing restless from the waiting, so Thranduil decided not to make him wait for longer.  
  
He let his fist fly in the air, aiming right at the guard's jaw. Once his hit reached the wished destination there was the muffled sound of bones cracking, but Thranduil hesitated for no longer than a second before grabbing the front of the man's armour and tugging him back with sudden force, smashing him with the door. That was more than enough for the black haired guard to lose consciousness, and dragging him inside to hide him in a dark corner wasn't hard after that.  
  
 _Maybe unacceptable behaviour is not the only thing I picked up next to Azadeth,_ he mused to himself as he grabbed his bow and quiver from the bed, all his other belongings safe with the warrior somewhere else. He figured he had at least ten minutes before the guard would wake, which still meant he had to be quick.  
  
The balcony was the only possible way to escape, and also the closest to the tower of the Palantir. He knew there was no chance they would be able to fetch their horses and he already felt bad for Alagos, but the prince had no time to think about that. The balcony was high enough to fall in a wrong position and, if not exactly to die, but surely to break a limb or two. His only weapon was his bow and his sword, but he also had a shield that he borrowed from Azadeth earlier, just in case.  
  
He wouldn't have ever imagined he would need that for this purpose.  
  
For his luck, the wall of the palace at this part was a perfect place for sliding down with a shield underneath. It was the only reason why Azadeth could simply run up and climb onto the balcony so easily; otherwise, had it been built like Lindon's castle no one would have been able to climb it like that. However, despite all this, Thranduil still felt the slight hint of nervousness in his stomach as he prepared the shield underneath him, ready to push himself and slide.  
  
He eventually gave in, though, and did it. And he had never been more relieved to open his eyes and realise that he was still alive, down on the ground, perfectly well, without even one bruise.  
  
"I should practice this more," he breathed as he stood, eyeing the shield with a proud smile. He then fixed it to his back, and a moment later he was running towards the tower in the shadows of the tall trees.  
  
Passing the guards on patrol might have been easier than how Thranduil expected it would be (given that they were men and not elves with extremely sensitive senses), but, as he hid behind the tree-trunks and approached the huge tower, he grew more and more worried. He wasn't actually sure that Azadeth made it into the tower and found the Palantir by now, after all, Thranduil spent very little time with the king during dinner. They didn't necessarily calculate things to go this way into their plan, but Thranduil hoped he would just simply catch Azadeth somewhere and they could be out of here as soon as possible. That guard didn't seem like one who would stay unconscious for longer than ten minutes, and he surely alerted the others by now. If he was to deal with the guards of the tower too, his whole escape plan would have been for nothing.  
  
And there wouldn't possibly be anything more embarassing than getting caught at this point.  
  
He carefully peeked out from behind the trunk and looked for the entry point of the tower. He could still see somewhat in the dim light of the torches, but, even in pitch darkness, he could've spotted that there were no guards standing there. A bit of hope rekindled in the prince's heart, automatically thinking that Azadeth was inside already, but his happiness didn't last long. For a loud cry of Quenyan words echoed through the night, and even with the small knowledge he had Thranduil could tell it didn't mean any good for him.  
  
There was still plenty of distance to cover from the trees to the entrance of the tower, but he knew he would have to run for it. He couldn't stay in the shadows forever, waiting for the guards to catch up with him and get him right there. He had to risk it, and, before he could have thought about it twice, he was already running. The stones under his heels cracked and crunched, even under his relatively light weight, and he could feel the adrenaline washing over him as he disappeared inside the darkness of the staircase in the tower.   
  
He almost stumbled as he took two stairs at a time, trying to leave the guards untouched. They were lying all across the cold, hard floor, knocked out but not killed, and Thranduil couldn't help but wonder how on Arda Azadeth could defeat so many guards. He felt a soft warmth spreading in his chest at the thought that Azadeth kept his word and took no lives, but, then again, he had never killed innocent people. Thranduil probably wouldn't have needed to ask him at all.  
  
The spiral staircase was long and steep, with small windows in the walls where the light of the Moon and the stars poured in and showed Thranduil the way. There were no guards up here anymore, and he could already see the light of the torch at the top, the only place where the Palantir could be. His heartbeat quickened with every step, his fingers never releasing the hilt of his sword. He was ready for everything that might've awaited him at the end, whether it would be more guards and a captured Azadeth or anything.  
  
He saw nothing of that at the top, of course. For once he took his last step and stopped for the first time, he was faced with Azadeth's back, the warrior holding the Palantir in his hands, completely motionless.  
  
His fingers grew numb once he laid eyes on the black haired elf, his whole stature tensed and his hands slightly trembling. The closer Thranduil moved with small steps, the more he could see how strained Azadeth's face was, how much fear sat in those deep blue eyes the deeper he stared into the Palantir. The stone was perfectly smooth and round, the darkest colour Thranduil had ever seen, and he was tempted, oh how he was tempted to step closer and take a look as well, but he forced himself to keep his eyes only at Azadeth. The cries around the palace were growing, people were gathering to look for them, and they were running out of time.  
  
"Azadeth," he started gently, but if the warrior had heard him, he gave no sign of it. "Have you found her?"  
  
"I see everything," Azadeth all but cut the prince off, a bitter and empty smile appearing on his face slowly. His hands were trembling more and more with every second, his fingertips whitening from the strength he held the stone with, and his eyes grew vacant. "I see not only the orcs, but far beyond that. I see men fighting and dying... I see the Dark Lord sitting on his iron throne, I see fell beasts emerging from mud and fire..."  
  
"Azadeth, put the stone down," Thranduil commanded, reaching out his arms but approaching only slowly, careful not to touch anything. He was ready to take the Palantir from the warrior, but Azadeth acted like he hadn't even heard him.  
  
"I see dark woods and desolations, I see the darkness, I see death. It is not the future, it is only the present and it's here, son of Oropher," Azadeth was speaking more loudly now, unable to tear his glance from the Palantir. There were tears in his eyes, sweat was rolling down his forehead and his cheek, and his whole body was trembling with terror and the power of darkness overwhelming him. Thranduil was only a few inches away now, his fingers reaching towards Azadeth's wrists, trying to resist the calling of the stone. "I see what is coming. We are all going to die!"  
  
It was only one touch, one grab of the wrist that made Azadeth let go of the Palantir, the heavy stone clashing against the marble table it was resting on so far. It was a loud sound, most certainly drawing the attention of every guard near and far in the city. Thranduil couldn't care for that, though, for once Azadeth had felt the prince's touch on his skin, he grabbed the blond elf and smashed him against the wall, nearly making him fall over the parapet. He held the front of Thranduil's jerkin, and it was the only thing holding the prince back. Azadeth was panting, his sword already unsheathed and aimed at Thranduil's throat, but there was no fear in the prince's eyes. After all, he remembered.  
  
The same look was on Azadeth's face the night Thranduil woke him from that nightmare. He held onto him then, waiting for reassurance that what happened was only a dream. Now, however, they both knew that anything Azadeth must have seen in the Palantir was reality, and it was pure fear making the warrior act as such. And Thranduil didn't fear - he had never feared him, not even once.  
  
"We have to go," Thranduil breathed, swallowing hard. The tip of the sword was painful against his throat, but he didn't care about it, even though it most likely drew some blood too. Azadeth's eyes slowly cleared, the mist of darkness vanishing completely, and once he realised what he was doing, he immediately pulled his arm back and nearly dropped his sword.  
  
"I am becoming like him," Azadeth whispered, his words almost too quiet for Thranduil to hear, but he could make them out anyway. He could see from the corner of his eye how the guards were running towards the tower, but, when Azadeth really dropped his sword this time, the prince knew he had to tend to him first before anything else. " _Fëanáro..._ "  
  
"Look at me, Azadeth."  
  
The firm grasp on his shoulders brought Azadeth back to reality at once, Thranduil's fingers holding him steady on his feet as the warrior was trying to regain his composure.  
  
"Your mother is in danger, and you already know which way to go," Thranduil said, his voice soothing and deep enough to keep Azadeth's focus on himself. "We must go, and we have to hurry. Do you have my pack?"  
  
Azadeth was still a bit dazed as he blinked, but one headtilt was enough for Thranduil to notice his belongings on the floor. There were more arrows in his pack, as well as the elven rope he managed to escape with from Lindon, and he knew they would have good use of it now. Hopefully, the guards were still far enough from the tower so they could descend on the rope and flee to the north.  
  
"You go ahead," Thranduil said while knotting the rope to the parapet, throwing the rest of the rope down into the bushes at the bottom. It was just long enough for them to escape, and Thranduil felt gratitude once more for the idea to bring it with him. "Come on, I will bring the pack. Quick, go!"  
  
The warrior hadn't had to be told twice. Surely he could understand by now that their situation was indeed burning and there was no time to waste, and he jumped over the parapet like he had done this in his entire life. The rope held him well, and Thranduil, after casting one last look at the now calm Palantir, immediately jumped after him with his belongings on his back. His hair was flying into his face at the speed he was sliding with, but he ignored it and tried to arrive safely in the grass.  
  
"We have to go north-east until the river, but first, we need horses," Azadeth grabbed the rope while Thranduil was tending to his weapons, pulling on it firmly and then pushing it back to the blond elf's pack. "We can't go back to the stables for our horses, we need ones for some forty miles."  
  
"The patrols must have horses," Thranduil said, looking at Azadeth to make sure he was fine by now. There was no sign of distress on the warrior's face anymore, and, after a swift nod from both of them, they started running towards the borders farthest from the Lake Evendim. The snow-capped mountains were stretching towards the sky in the distance, lit up completely in the light of the stars that Thranduil had been missing way too much now. He had no time to admire them, though, for he could already hear that the guards had reached the top of the tower and had seen them on the run.  
  
"Don't look back just run," Azadeth called after him, the blond elf not even realising how much faster he ran than the warrior. It was a strange sight, seeing Azadeth so behind and... running with a limp. Thranduil immediately slowed down, but one glare from the other and a hard push on his shoulder made him remember what the black haired elf just told him.  
  
"What is wrong with your leg?" Thranduil managed to ask while they left the road and headed for the woods instead, the yellow lights of the patrols' stables glimmering between the trees in the distance.  
  
"The same that will happen to yours if you-"  
  
Thranduil knew what he was told about not looking back and he tried to keep himself to it. But once the warrior was abruptly cut off and there came a muffled cry from him right before he fell to the ground, he couldn't stop himself. He stopped immediately, breathing heavily from the long running, and the moment he cast his glance on the arrow coming out of Azadeth's thigh, his stomach dropped.  
  
The guards. They were close enough to shoot.  
  
"Don't stop!" Azadeth yelled at him, the prince standing without a single movement, his feet rooted in the ground. "For the love of the Valar, run, Thranduil! I will find you, just go!"  
  
Still motionless, Thranduil stood and watched, scanning the darkness whence they ran from. From what he could tell solely with the help of his senses, there were at least a dozen men after them, but they weren't the ones shooting. The arrow came from the tower, given they were on an exposed field, on the very edge of the forest. And it only meant one thing.  
  
They still had time, and Thranduil would have been a fool to flee alone.  
  
He was running towards Azadeth before his common sense would've been able to convince him otherwise, the same common sense that believed every word Azadeth had ever told him. He ignored it completely now, and, kneeling by the warrior's side and snapping his hand away from the arrow, he took Azadeth's arm around his own shoulder and stood.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" The black haired elf was downright hysteric now, trying to escape Thranduil's hold but he was unable to do so. The prince was the stronger one now, and it filled him with an unknown kind of pride he had never felt before. "They will shoot you too, idiot!"  
  
"No, they won't," Thranduil uttered as he tried to run as fast as he could, given that he was carrying half of Azadeth on one side. "They won't hurt me, and they won't risk aiming one more time without putting my life on the stake too."  
  
"You sound awfully confident," Azadeth growled painfully, but all Thranduil gave him was a half-smirk before finally disappearing in the woods.  
  
The stables of the patrols was significantly smaller than the main stables where Alagos and Azadeth's horse were placed earlier that day. There were fewer horses as well, and now, considering that everyone was in the city and on the main borders looking for Thranduil, there was only one stallion waiting there. It looked strong enough to carry two for their relatively short journey, and Thranduil didn't even bother with saddling him.  
  
"We have to pull that arrow from your leg," Thranduil said as he walked over to the warrior now sitting on the hay in a dark corner. He was looking at his wound, the arrow completely slicing through his thigh and soaking his leggings with blood. It seemed extremely painful, but Azadeth just shook his head, wiping sweat from his brows as he looked up at Thranduil.  
  
"I will sit at the front, you are taller than me," he held out one arm, leaning on Thranduil while the prince led him to the horse. The blond elf himself mounted quickly and was still holding Azadeth's arm while he readied himself for following Thranduil on the back of the animal. "You have to ride as soon as I'm up."  
  
"For the love of the Valar, just mount already," Thranduil rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh, pulling at Azadeth's arm suddenly. The warrior moaned in pain as he placed all his weight at his wounded leg, but he told nothing. He simply sank lower on the horse, pressing his back against Thranduil's chest while the prince grabbed the reins firmly with one hand and snaked his other arm around Azadeth. "Noro lim!"  
  
And he rode, he rode faster than ever before, leaving the city of men behind him as fast as they came.  
  
It was almost midnight by the time Thranduil slowed the horse and the animal was about to give out underneath them. It was a long trip that others carried out in half a day. Not them, though, and Thranduil probably felt worse for the horse than for Azadeth who still had the arrow in his thigh, refusing Thranduil to even touch it.  
  
"I am fine," he growled at him whenever Thranduil would've tried to stop to take a look at it. They were already passing through a small forest that Azadeth claimed to know very well. It was abandoned and fog was heavy above them, but the warrior kept repeating that he knew the road and Thranduil wasn't in the mood to question him.  
  
All he knew was that he would've surely been lost here, had he been alone.  
  
They must have been walking in the darkness for long minutes when the silence of the woods was broken by the sound of water. Thranduil raised his brows in surprise, for now he could smell the river as well and not just hear it, the realisation sending cold shivers down his spine. He remembered their last time by that lake, the sight of Azadeth so different from the way he was now, but he quickly dismissed the thought and focused on the warrior peeling Thranduil's arms from around himself.  
  
"Where are you going?" the prince asked, disbelief almost dripping from his tone, but Azadeth gave him no answer. The more they walked in the fog the clearer Thranduil could see the boats by the shore, and he caught himself standing motionless a good distance away from the water. Azadeth was moving slowly but confidently on the coast, preparing the boat with the utmost surety, like he had been planning this from the moment they escaped from Annúminas.  
  
However, Thranduil didn't like it. Not one bit.  
  
"We might be able to reach Sarn Ford by dawn if we set out now," Azadeth straightened once he prepared the paddles and he placed their packs inside the boat as well. He turned around slowly, expecting Thranduil to already be ready to get in and help him with his leg again, but Thranduil was nothing even close to ready. He was standing absolutely still, eyeing the boat as if it was Sauron himself sitting inside.  
  
Azadeth stared at the prince for a few seconds, waiting so Thranduil would maybe, just maybe recognise himself, but after a while he ran out of patience.  
  
"What is wrong now?" he sighed deeply, running his fingers through his hair and slightly limping around so he would face the blond elf with his whole body. Thranduil visibly swallowed, clasping his hands behind his back and taking a long breath.  
  
"You didn't say we were going to travel by boat."  
  
The warrior raised one eyebrow ever so slightly, not quite understanding the problem just yet.  
  
"No, I didn't," he shook his head, pouting his lower lip only a little bit. "Now I'm saying, so... Get inside."  
  
If it was possible to become even more tensed, Thranduil most certainly managed to do it, for he seemed at least five heads taller now than any other elf Azadeth had ever seen. His face was completely unreadable, but his anxiety was obvious by the way he was holding himself.  
  
"You might remember that I am not quite fond of water," Thranduil put it as softly as he could, trying to fight his hammering heartbeat and swallow it so it would return to its rightful place in his chest instead of beating in his throat. Azadeth nodded after a bit of hesitation, folding his arms in front of his chest slowly.  
  
"I do," he answered, and Thranduil could tell that he was growing annoyed but, for once, he didn't care. "And your point is?"  
  
"My point is that I'm not going to travel by boat because there is no way I'll go near that river, thank you very much," Thranduil said, his own voice sounding sharp and harsh but he couldn't afford to care now. He had his priorities too, after all, and if there was any other way to go, he would rather ride for another week than to enter that boat.  
  
Or, so he thought until Azadeth limped up to him with the scariest expression he had ever worn, talking to Thranduil on a tone so quiet and so dangerous that every hair stood on end on Thranduil's neck.  
  
"Let me make it clear for you," he started, his voice low and full of veiled anger. "I didn't come this far with a bloody arrow in my leg to listen to you whining about how you are afraid of water. My wound is bleeding out, there is a great chance that I can faint any moment now, I couldn't even tell you my own name, but I most certainly can do something."  
  
By this point he was already so close to Thranduil that the warrior could feel the black haired elf's breath on his skin and count his eyelashes, even in the dark.  
  
"I can throw you in the water and make you push the cursed boat all the way down to Sarn Ford, you can be sure of that," he gave Thranduil his most beautiful fake smile, but the icy look in his eyes mixed with some pain was sending goosebumps all over the prince's body. Azadeth truly seemed like he could pass out in the next moment, and Thranduil slowly realised he had no choice this time.  
  
But, then again, he never seemed to have a choice with Azadeth.  
  
  
"How long are we going to float down the river like this?"  
  
They were floating with the current for the last three hours, the warm night of Middle-earth having mercy at them. No cloud was on the sky to hide the starlight from them, and the spacious fields were empty and quiet in the winds. There was no sign of anyone, and, even though the paddles were useless in the shallow water, they made a good pace ever since they set out.  
  
Thranduil wasn't actually expecting an answer as he seeked the first lights of the sun on the horizon, the beginning of the new day painting the sky in the thousand hues of pink and orange. It was a beautiful sight, and he was glad he could admire it. He missed these silent moments with his thoughts, and, for once, Azadeth didn't have any insulting comments for a while now.  
  
He answered now, nevertheless, and the blond elf looked at him with a blink.  
  
"Too long," the warrior said under his breath, his slightly trembling fingers moving around the wound on his thigh. He removed the arrow earlier himself, not letting Thranduil to tend to it, but it was still bleeding and his leggings were completely soaked now. The prince watched him carefully, the black haired elf's skin looking paler than only a minute before. Thranduil tried to convince himself that it was the trick of the lights and his dark robes and hair, making him look so bad, but the way Azadeth kept blinking as if he was trying to stay in focus was suggesting nothing good.  
  
Thranduil kept eyeing him for a while, waiting so maybe Azadeth would realise that he needed help, but the warrior rather have died than ask for assistance from Thranduil. The prince knew it already, reading Azadeth like he was an opened book and he rolled his eyes, shifting closer to the other with a deep sigh.  
  
"Let me have a look at it," he reached out maybe too fast, for the other snapped at his hand immediately, glaring at him like a wolf that's dinner was about to be taken. "What is your problem?"  
  
"I can do it myself," Azadeth answered sharply, turning back to his wound and clumsily trying to pull away the torn cloth from around it. Needless to say, it didn't want to work out the way he wanted, and it only made him more frustrated, especially that Thranduil didn't seem to understand him.  
  
"You have been poking at it for the last hour," Thranduil tried not to raise his voice, but he was getting dangerously close to his breaking point now. "I will stop the bleeding."  
  
"I have already told you not to touch me!" the other growled nervously, snapping Thranduil's hand away everytime the prince tried to get closer to the wound. "I don't need your help!"  
  
Thranduil didn't even argue anymore, he just fought Azadeth's defense until he managed to grab the shaking wrists and hold them at one place, his grip perhaps a bit harder than how he intended. Azadeth looked up immediately, his frown and irritation all the same, but their faces were now only an inch apart and the sudden closeness completely took Thranduil's breath away. In his long years the prince would have never believed such thing could exist, that one person could have such impact on him, but he had to realise that it was absolutely real. His stomach fell the very moment his eyes slid down to the warrior's lips, that perfect mouth tempting him harder than ever before, and the grim face of Azadeth slowly started to soften under Thranduil's glance. It was a moment of exceptional privacy and the prince swallowed, blinking rapidly to keep himself from leaning forward.  
  
"Stop fidgeting and let me look at it," he whispered so softly it was barely audible, but he could see the final obedience in Azadeth's eyes. There were no more words exchanged for the next few minutes while Thranduil slowly let go of Azadeth's wrists and bent down instead of forward. The caught air only now escaped his lungs, relieving his whole body and filling it with oxygen instead of lust.   
  
"I have a spare leggings in my pack if you-"  
  
"I let you look at the wound, but you don't have to talk too," Azadeth muttered, his words finding an aching spot in Thranduil immediately. It wasn't as painful as other things he had said before, so Thranduil just pressed his lips into a thin line and remained silent, tearing at the fabric of the leggings around the wound to get a better look.  
  
 _His gratitude is overwhelming,_ he thought to himself as he threw the waste material away, tearing down a bit from the bottom of his shirt. Azadeth's head was hanging low but Thranduil could feel his eyes on his working hands as he tried to tear a piece big enough to cover the whole wound.  
  
"We will need to find some yarrow once we reach the shore. You don't want it to get infected," Thranduil said, gently wiping the dried blood after wetting a small part of his cloak. The wound itself was small, but given that there were two of them, one on the top of Azadeth's thigh and one on the bottom, there was plenty to clean off. Sometimes the warrior hissed ever so slightly, obviously trying to swallow back the most of it, but he didn't always manage. Thranduil didn't regret if he went too close to the wound accidentally, after all, Azadeth didn't exactly deserve to be treated carefully after the fit he threw about it.  
  
"Just wrap it already," Azadeth said impatiently, as if every single touch of the prince was burning his skin. "Get on with it."  
  
Thranduil felt the urge to strangle him with the piece of cloth instead of bandaging his wound, but he just set his cloak aside and started placing the material around Azadeth's thigh at last. This time he spared every ounce of tenderness as he worked, pulling at the cloth as forcefully as he could. Besides the fact that it drew some blood from the wound it immediately made Azadeth moan in pain again, but Thranduil didn't even look at him. He finished bandaging quickly, throwing the bloodied parts of Azadeth's leggings into his pack violently.  
  
The silence that fell on them closely after Thranduil shifted back to his place and stared at the distance with the most serious look on his face was full of tension and naked irritation. For a moment the prince wouldn't have been able to tell which of them wanted to throw the other into the water more, but, at the end, he settled with himself. He had time to get used to these mood-swings by now, yet, it was another dagger into his heart every single time, and he wasn't able to ignore it. Even though, he really tried.  
  
Complete quietness must have lasted for longer than the longest minutes Thranduil had ever lived so far, neither of them speaking a word until Azadeth finally gave in. His words were forestalled by a deep sigh and he ran his hand through his hair slowly, as if it was the hardest thing he had ever been forced to do.  
  
"I am sorry," he started, his voice unusually low and weak compared to how he spoke before. Thranduil looked up doubtfully, eyeing the pale face and the empty eyes with slight concern he didn't allow himself to show. "And thank you for taking care of me."  
  
"I saved your life," Thranduil murmured, his statement sounding more like a question and Azadeth nodded, his eyelids falling closed heavily. "Twice."  
  
"I know," Azadeth whispered, not even opening his eyes anymore and Thranduil straightened, his brows furrowed with worry the longer he stared at the helpless posture of the warrior. He looked so small now, so weak and fragile that Thranduil's disdain was forced in the back of his mind while the rest was filled with concern only. "I know."  
  
It was the loss of blood, Thranduil could tell by just one look. Azadeth honestly seemed to try and stay conscious, to hold onto reality but it was harder and harder with every moment. His whole body was leaning to the right, his head lolling forward slowly and had Thranduil not reached for him, Azadeth would have fallen out of the boat and into the river.  
  
"You are cold," Thranduil said more to himself than to the half-unconscious Azadeth, holding the warrior with firm hands to prevent him from falling to either side. They were in a small boat and Thranduil couldn't decide which way to turn the black haired elf to make him comfortable. He knew it was a long way still, and he also knew that Azadeth needed rest before they would have reached Sarn Ford. Of when it would be he knew nothing, but he thought there would be enough time for the warrior to sleep for a while just yet.  
  
After a bit of thinking he had finally decided upon sitting next to Azadeth and letting the elf use him as a pillow, even though his heartbeat was already quickened simply at the thought of the other's closeness. He wasn't even tempted to do things he would regret, though, and he placed Azadeth's leg outstretched on the other seat of the boat. The warrior's head rested between his shoulder and his clavicle in the meantime, every single rapid breath that Azadeth took sending warm shivers down Thranduil's spine and goosebumps all over his body.   
  
It was a strange moment, Azadeth nestled against him without him even knowing. Even though he knew he would see nothing, Thranduil couldn't help himself when he looked down at him. He wondered whether those eyes were open now and he slept like that or they were closed just like his own. He wondered whether he would have to wake him from yet another nightmare, whether Azadeth would find comfort in his arms or not. It felt utterly right to hold him like this, to be the one shielding someone for the first time in his life and Thranduil smiled. Azadeth's hand was resting on his wounded thigh, his palm facing the skyscape that grew lighter and more colourful with every passing moment.  
  
Thranduil didn't really try to stop himself before he softly took that hand into his own, entwining his fingers with Azadeth's and drawing soothing circles on the cool skin. And, if Azadeth was awake somewhere deep inside and was aware of this movement, Thranduil would never know.  
  
It took them three more hours to reach Sarn Ford. Thranduil managed to hold Azadeth in the same position for the rest of their trip, just floating down the river and enjoying the misty dawn around them in the greenery. Had it been anyone else, the prince would have waken them immediately once his shoulder grew numb and his spine aching, but he couldn't do that with Azadeth. The warrior was occasionally whimpering in his dream, pressing closer against Thranduil whenever a bad dream wanted to take over him, but one squeeze of Thranduil's hand on the black haired elf's was enough to comfort him. Three hours had never felt so long before, yet, the time seemed to pass awfully fast as well. Either way, Thranduil would've liked to simply stop the passing of time, to keep this moment forever, and whenever he looked down at the other he caught himself smiling.  
  
It alone was something worth stopping the time for.  
  
The trees and stones of Sarn Ford welcomed them early on the river, locking out the rays of the sunlight completely and covering them in cold fog. Thranduil felt goosebumps on his skin as he scanned the shores around him, feeling as if he was seeing a thousand pairs of eyes looking at him intently. It planted a knot on his stomach and he swallowed, slowly reaching for his bow in the dim light.   
  
The moment Azadeth shifted next to him Thranduil let go of his hand, waiting until the warrior straightened. He then started to tend to his arrows and fill his quiver to hide his heated cheeks while Azadeth was waking.  
  
"How is your leg?" he muttered under his breath, carefully peeking through his golden locks as he watched Azadeth stretching. The warrior's face had never been more rested, even despite the obvious pain in his features, and he blinked down at his leg slowly, as if he was trying to remember how that wound got there in the first place. It must have been the first time in long years that he could get a decent sleep.  
  
"It's better, I suppose." He gently reached out with one hand, slowly pulling away the bandage that Thranduil wrapped the wound with, and the prince could see how much better it already looked. Given the extraordinary healing ability of elves, it wasn't much of a surprise, but Thranduil still guessed they would have to find some herbs once they reached the shore safely.   
  
His panic of being watched didn't pass, though, and he held his bow firmly in his hand as he straightened in his seat. The silence that fell on them was not so tensed at first, but the longer it grew the more heavy it felt and Thranduil turned to look at the warrior.   
  
And when he met those blue eyes, seeing the sadness in them rendered him completely motionless and his stomach dropped again.  
  
He had never seen Azadeth like this before. Not when he was talking about his mother, not even when he talked to Maglor about his mysterious past. It was a look full of regret, pain and veiled apologies, and Thranduil didn't understand, he couldn't. He just watched with wide eyes, his lips parted ever so slightly at the sight, then closed with a blink.  
  
"Are you alright, Azadeth?" Thranduil asked carefully, his words almost lost in the cold air they were uttered so quietly. The warrior seemed to shiver, his gaze falling to his wounded thigh and he eyed it for long moments before speaking.  
  
"We have been through a lot, haven't we?" A ghost of a smile lingered on his lips, his eyelids closing and opening heavily. Thranduil felt mesmerized by the simple sight, not taking his eyes off him for even a second. "You and I."  
  
Thranduil's eyebrows slowly furrowed, still not quite understanding what was all of this about. The warrior would have never acted like this unless there was a good reason to do so, and Thranduil could only think of one proper explanation. He felt a small smile tugging at his lips as he exhaled, eyeing the changeless expression on the other's face.  
  
"You know, I might be useless for you in a fight, which, in my opinion I am not, but you don't have to say things like that to distract me," Thranduil shook his head, temporary indeed forgetting about all the danger he feared around them. "It doesn't suit you. Acting all sad. So don't do it, I perfectly know what we face here."  
  
There was momentary surprise in Azadeth's eyes as he stared at Thranduil, mixed with endless sadness and regret that the prince couldn't put his finger on, but he didn't try. He stood in the boat with a smile, trying to hide his actual concern behind the cheerful mask. He fixed his bow on his back before grabbing the paddles, holding one of them out for Azadeth to take.  
  
"I will be fine, and so will you. I am sure you have faced worse than a few orcs," Thranduil noted more to himself than to Azadeth, but he held the gaze of the warrior firmly. The warmth that radiated from his eyes was urging Azadeth to take the paddle carefully, standing up in the boat as well to face Thranduil properly.  
  
The prince tried to ignore how forced the smile seemed that Azadeth gave him, as if it would have been enough to hide everything, but they spoke not again.  
  
Azadeth very soon started to lead the boat towards the shore, close to a great stone with wet grass covering it fully. It was a land mostly untouched by men, a place Thranduil knew only a little of. He had heard of Sarn Ford before, nevertheless. It was a place where the Rangers of Arnor would defend the lowest point of the kingdom, the point where the River Baranduin and the North-South Road crossed each other. The road wasn't exactly safe now, given it came from the northern parts of Gondor and Sauron kept the city under siege for years now. It wasn't surprising at all that the orcs would be here, and Thranduil could already suspect that there were no rangers around here now.  
  
No one would have been foolish enough to come here, save for them of course.  
  
"Do you have a plan?" Thranduil asked while pulling the boat to the shore completely, waving off Azadeth when he tried to help him. He had a limp because of his wounded leg, and Thranduil still remembered his strained ankle that he suffered with before he got shot. He wasn't exactly ready to fight just yet, but the prince hoped he would be able to deal with the orcs even instead of Azadeth.  
  
The warrior sighed heavily, trying to look through the fog around them. Thranduil guessed the air would not clean until noon, but he knew that Azadeth was well aware of that as well.  
  
"I am sure they are watching us, I can feel it," the prince continued while walking up to Azadeth, the black haired elf still not being quite himself. "Why won't they attack?"  
  
Azadeth stared for a while longer then shook his head, slowly starting to walk forwards in a seemingly aimless direction. Thranduil didn't keep asking questions, though, he just followed after him closely and kept his eyes open for every little movement.  
  
The eyes he felt on himself earlier were still present around them in the woods, even though it wasn't a great forest. Thranduil could see the road from here, now muddy from the rains and unused for years. He assumed the last time the road was taken was long years ago when the men of Gondor escaped to Arnor. They lived there ever since, and only those who still tried to defend the city stayed behind.  
  
Thranduil was wondering whether it would take much longer, whether Gondor would truly fall one day and the darkness would take Arnor and Lindon as well, eventually. He also wondered whether his father was well, whether he feared the evil that lurked so close to his realm. From Oropher his thoughts immediately wandered to his mother, and a cool wind sneaked under his clothes at the mere thought, sending a shiver down his spine that shook his whole body.  
  
"They knew we were coming."  
  
Thranduil slightly jumped at the sudden words. Azadeth was speaking for the first time since long minutes, and he was kneeling on the ground now. The prince didn't even realise that they came to a smaller circle of woods, the tracks of a camp scattered all around them with the remnants of fire in the middle. Not too far from him stood a tree with ropes all around it, hanging loose and bloodied, as if they were slashed in a hurry. There was even more blood on the soil when Thranduil looked down and he trembled ever so slightly, the pieces falling together slowly. Orcs tended to keep their prisoners like that, and Azadeth's mother wasn't an exception.  
  
He stared with narrowed eyes, slowly reaching for the hilt of his sword as his first reaction, but Azadeth's hand was suddenly on his, stopping him from any heedless movements.  
  
"They are already here," he murmured so quietly it was barely audible. Thranduil swallowed hard, realising that the warrior was right. Azadeth regained his composure by now, his face completely unreadable for the prince, but there was no sign of fear at all. His eyes held strange emotions that were unusual to see, but Thranduil trusted the warning anyway and let go of his sword, taking a deep breath.  
  
"Are we going to fight?" the blond asked, scanning his surroundings from the corner of his eye. Movements were indeed growing behind the fog, and the sound of the heavy panting of orcs mixed with some snorts and occasional spitting were coming from closer and closer with every second. Azadeth didn't answer, just waited until Thranduil looked at him, deep in his eyes as if he was trying to look into his mind, and the prince felt truly lost now. There was something very odd about the whole situation, and all he could lean on was his blind faith that Azadeth would come up with something.  
  
Now it was stumbling too, once he noticed the warrior's hand still lingering on his own. It wasn't a real hold, but it was there nonetheless, hidden from all eyes around them, a secret that belonged only to them. Thranduil looked down slowly, the cold fingertips brushing against the top of his hand gently, and he could hear nothing besides his raging heartbeat in his ears.  
  
It was louder than the black speech. Louder than anything.  
  
"We have been through a lot, you and I," Azadeth whispered, the same sad smile reappearing on his face with the only exception that Thranduil didn't manage to say anything this time. He watched, his chest aching painfully at what he thought would await them. Him. "And I am sorry. I'm sorry it had to be you."  
  
Then, the touch was gone. Azadeth pulled away his hand, stepping back once, then twice, farther and farther away from Thranduil. The prince remained motionless, the words of someone wise echoing through his mind as his fingers stretched then eased, the closeness of orcs not even bothering him anymore.  
  
 _He leads you into your doom._  
  
Thranduil had never seen, nor heard so much regret when Azadeth finally broke the silence, swallowing hard and opening his lips slowly, uttering the words as if they were burning him on the inside so far.  
  
"Take him."  
  
And the orcs grabbed him, hitting the prince on the head before he could've started fighting.  
  
Darkness took everything afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose it turned out a bit longer than I intended, but this is one of my favourite chapters so far. I hope you are going to enjoy it! : )


	7. Lost And Found

It was a strange feeling, running again after so many years. It felt wrong, despite everything that went through Azadeth's mind, everything that led him to believe what he was doing was right. His legs carried him away, farther and farther from every danger and every failure, every broken promise and a wounded heart, but they couldn't take him away from this guilt. He couldn't shake it off, he couldn't soothe it. He knew it would stay, he just didn't know for how much longer.  
  
The woods seemed darker the longer they ran. Trees blurred at the corners of his eyes and his breathing grew heavy, harder to take with every moment. He would have run without end hadn't it been for the woman next to him, her hands clutching into his flesh, then slipping terrifyingly easily.  
  
"Stop," she breathed, but he only stopped when she was already left behind, falling to the ground. Her long dark locks were splayed across her fragile form, now shaking with the lack of strength, and, once her knees hit the grass, it didn't take long to lean to the side and ending up on the ground, motionless. "Oiocuilë..."  
  
"Emilinya!"  
  
The desperate cry left Azadeth's lips before he processed what was happening, and, within the fraction of a second, he was kneeling by his mother's side. She moaned with pain once he moved her, the deep and heavily bleeding wound on her stomach now revealed to Azadeth too. Her light green robes were soaked in scarlet, and she seemed awfully pale compared to the black of her hair. She was once the most beautiful woman Azadeth had ever known, but he had to face that she was only a ghost of her real self now.  
  
He tried to ignore it with everything he had, but he couldn't. And it made his eyes water, despite the empty but comforting smile on his mother's lips.  
  
"I can carry you, emilinya," Azadeth said, his voice shaking under the fear and the pressure of time. The only reason why he couldn't already wrap his arms around his mother to lift her was the woman defying him with her last ounce of strength, pushing away his hands weakly. "I will carry you into safety."  
  
"No, Oiocuilë," she shook her head slowly, her eyes falling closed as she stopped pushing at Azadeth and simply grabbed his hand, squeezing it gently and entwining her fingers with his. "You cannot. It is too late."  
  
It was the last thing Azadeth wanted to hear, and his first instinct was to shake his head rapidly, his lips pressed together into a straight line. He couldn't even bear to look at her now, for he was sure once he opened his eyes, his tears would roam freely on his face.  
  
"Listen to me, yonya. You must be strong," she squeezed at his hand again, pulling it to her lips and pressing a kiss lightly on the top of it. His skin was cool but soft, and the touch only pushed him deeper in denial. He wasn't willing to accept this. He didn't come so far for this.  
  
He didn't sacrifice an innocent he cared about for this.  
  
She couldn't die now. It wasn't meant to be this way.  
  
"I can't be strong without you," his voice broke and he hung his head low. Had he still had long locks they would have brushed his mother's face, but now he just knelt, holding her tightly and shaking his head with childish denial. He desperately held back the sobs, but one or two escaped and they made him shiver violently, filling him with terror and pure heartbreak. "Emilinya, I can't."  
  
He only opened his eyes when he felt the tender touch of old times on his cheek, his mother's fingers leaving soothing tracks on his skin where later his tears were flowing. She was slipping away gradually, letting go willingly and ending her pains before they could have worsened, and he wanted to shake her. He wanted to scream at her to stop, to stay and fight for him just like he did for her, but he couldn't. He simply watched and listened to her even breathing, feeling her heartbeat still on her wrist.  
  
"You must go back for the boy," she said, wiping Azadeth's first rolling tear with her thumb, then slowly pulling down his face to her own so she could hold him close. Her hand rested on the nape of his neck, drawing circles on his skin and breathing in his scent as he buried his face in her neck. "You must not let him die."  
  
Azadeth cried like he had never cried before, the whole world crumbling down around him. The pain was tearing him apart on the inside and he couldn't find a way to cope, he couldn't see the way out.  
  
He didn't even want to see it.  
  
The warrior pulled back slowly, words of protest already on his tongue but he held them and closed his eyes again, letting out his choked sobs quietly. There was nothing left to say, and there was no one left to save. Thranduil would die if he wasn't dead already, and Azadeth was about to lose the last ray of hope that he could live with the one dearest to his heart, his mother.  
  
There was absolutely nothing left for him to say. He couldn't promise anything, because he didn't feel the power to grant any wish. Not even the wish of his dying mother.  
  
"We will love you always, yonya. Your father and I," she breathed, her heartbeat slowing down and her smile fading. "This is not an ending, merely something beginning. You have so much to live for."  
  
"I have nothing," Azadeth shook his head, fixing his eyes on the pale skin of his mother's neck. Her pulse was still visible and he kept watching it, as if it was the last thing he could hold onto. He felt no pain for his wounds, it was only pure heartbreak and fear, mixing with his blood and spreading from his toes to the top of his head.  
  
He held onto her stronger as he waited for a response, keeping her awake as if he was begging for another second. The fragile woman in his arms stopped fighting for consciousness gradually, her hand still captured in Azadeth's as he pulled her closer and watched her. She seemed peaceful as she slipped away, her chest ceasing to rise and her eyelids falling closed. He held her with shaking arms, otherwise utterly motionlessly kneeling in the grass, and he didn't move even when he heard her voice in his head for the last time.  
  
 _Ilya mernel oi ná exa massë caureva, melda Ainunya._  
  
Azadeth knew his mother tongue would never sound so sweet again from anyone's lips, and he closed his eyes for a second, lingering in this moment for a little longer. He burned every word, every sound into his memory, his fingers digging into the flesh on his mother's arm. The distant winds picked up the choked sigh that escaped his throat and he let his tears fall silently, he let devastation bury him until he knew there would be nothing left to matter.  
  
Numbness rendered him stone-still for long minutes that felt like hours, days and weeks. He knew not where the sun was on the sky at the moment, but he cared not anyway. He hoped orcs would wander near and find him, kill him quickly and without hesitation, putting him out of his misery. He saw Thranduil's face as the recognition dawned on him, the warrior's betrayal hurting him beyond any words Azadeth had ever scarred him with. Perhaps the prince could finally see why he said those things, that was the only thing the black haired elf hoped for. He didn't have the power to feel ridiculous about thinking of that prince with his strange behaviour so unlike of elves, with his long limbs and childish excitement. He wanted to scold himself for still caring, for wishing the orcs had killed Thranduil swiftly and he didn't have to suffer. Azadeth didn't let himself care, yet, he ended up here anyway.  
  
With his mother dead. With his heart broken. With this terrible silence that no one was there to fill.  
  
What felt like years for him was only an hour or two, sitting in the grass and falling dangerously silent. His tears stopped flowing and he wasn't shaking anymore. The only movement that signed he was alive was the slow motions of his fingers, the raven black locks of his mother captured between them. She was one of the most beautiful once, now she was only a body. A hröa without a fëa.  
  
He, terrifyingly, felt the same.  
  
Azadeth didn't actually notice when someone passed him by. It was not long after he heard the last words of his mother in his head, someone with black hair and long steps approaching him and touching him. It was a small touch on his shoulder, and Azadeth was fairly sure the stranger talked to him, but the warrior couldn't tell what was told. He felt empty and he didn't care, and, just as he thought he would, the other elf left him soon afterwards. Everyone left him in the end, why would it be different this time? At least, that is what he thought.  
  
However, there was someone else a while later, but Azadeth's eyesight was blurred by tears way too much to see even the colour of the other's hair. He heard distant words he couldn't catch, he felt a tugging at his shoulder, as if someone was trying to make him stand. Then the stranger tried to pull the body from his arms and the warrior didn't let go, holding onto the last thing he knew would matter until the end of time. He still didn't look up, though, even when he realised the other was calling his name, growing more and more desperate with every try. Azadeth wanted to scream at him, to push him away and tell him to leave, to let him die if it was the way he was meant to be.  
  
The last thing he felt was the pain on his face as he fell to the ground and lost consciousness.  
  
And the words kept echoing, even in the darkness.  
  
  
The first sound Azadeth heard when he woke was the clicking of fire. It planted an unsettling thought in his mind the longer he waited for his eyesight to clear, and the heaviness he felt in his limbs as he tried to move wasn't implying anything good either. He felt warmth around himself, save for the warmth of the fire, and, as he licked at his dry lips with his tongue, he recognised the irony taste of blood on them. He then started to feel the aching in his cheek, possibly from a huge punch, and it was only after a few moments of adjusting when he remembered.  
  
He immediately wished he hadn't.  
  
The cool breeze of the night was nothing compared to the icy emptiness that filled his heart. There was the ghost of a hole on his soul, a pain that nothing would've been able to soothe, a longing for something that didn't exist. It was hard to keep his chest from exploding, his eyes from watering, his body from trembling. It took all the little willpower he was left, but he managed to ease the raging of his heart with a deep sigh. He knew he wasn't alone, and it didn't matter who made the fire and tucked him under blankets, Azadeth would have died first than cry in front of a stranger.   
  
His hope that he could stay strong for a bit longer was firm enough as he turned his head to look for the one that aided him, to see if he was indeed aided or he simply fell into another trap. He expected to see many kind of people, men, elves and dwarves alike, but not this particular person. Breath was caught in his lungs as he stared, his eyes widening and his lips parting in shock.  
  
The prince of the Woodland Realm was sitting between two thick tree roots, staring intently at the fire with the most unreadable expression Azadeth had ever seen on his face. It didn't take long until their eyes met and Azadeth sat up, ignoring the pain in his head at the sudden movement.  
  
"You are alive."  
  
He didn't really know whether he intended to ask the other or simply state the truth, but he knew it wouldn't matter. Everything that mattered was in front of his eyes, looking straight at him, breathing and moving unlike the last time Azadeth had seen him.  
  
"No thanks to you," Thranduil cleared his throat shortly, resting his entwined fingers on his knee and never looking away, eyeing the warrior with his golden blue eyes.  
  
Azadeth waited for long moments, not really expecting the prince to say anything else but somehow hoping for it. He wasn't ready to face what he had done, he wasn't ready for excuses and apologies. All the apologies of the world wouldn't have been enough to express all the guilt that burdened the warrior, heavier with every second. He swallowed hard before finally tearing his eyes from the blond prince.  
  
"Here," the prince sighed deeply after a minute of silence, reaching out to the side for something. He then placed a plate in front of Azadeth, meat and some kind of stew on it that the warrior couldn't quite recognise. "Eat this."  
  
The black haired elf wasn't able to move his eyes from the plate for very long seconds after this. He tried to see sense in all this, he tried to understand, but he failed miserably and it angered him. It angered him more than anything, and he couldn't help it. Thranduil firstly knocked him out and brought him here, he made fire, he tended to him and now he made food. Azadeth felt his heart crawling into his throat, forcing it wider and sending shivers down his spine.  
  
He was nothing but a traitor. A shameless murderer who gave an innocent into the hands of orcs for his own selfish purposes. Traitors like him weren't to be aided, not by their victims. Azadeth was meant to die there with his mother, he most certainly wasn't meant to be taken care of by the one person that should have hated him with utmost honesty. He could have escaped alone, he could have left him behind, but he stopped and took the warrior with him.  
  
And it didn't touch Azadeth, not one bit. It only made him furious, more than ever.  
  
"I don't want your food," he muttered under his breath, his nails digging into his palm so deep he was sure it drew blood. He couldn't face Thranduil directly, he stared at the fire instead and tried to hold back his anger. "If you took me with you to deal with me later so you could make me feel your pity until then, be decent in revenge and take my life now."  
  
He could feel Thranduil's eyes on him, but there was no sign of tension in the air around them. It was a peaceful night, and knowing that this ruthless storm was raging only inside him only fueled Azadeth's fury even more.  
  
"If I wanted to kill you, I would have already done it," answered Thranduil softly and he threw a small stick into the fire. The piece of wood immediately perished in the flames and, once it completely disappeared, Azadeth looked up, eyes narrowed.  
  
"Don't be such a coward," he all but spat, earning a slightly confused look from the prince. "You say you don't want to kill me, and you are nothing but a hypocrite. You don't have the courage to-"  
  
"I already know your tactics, Azadeth," Thranduil cut him off quietly and Azadeth tensed, his breathing growing rapid with all the pent up anger that he couldn't unleash. They stared at each other without even a blink, but Thranduil looked away first. "Insulting me won't result in me taking your life. If anything, it gives me a reason to keep you alive."  
  
Azadeth felt the urge to laugh at that, but all he allowed himself was a bitter snort and a forced grin full of disbelief.   
  
"And why is that?" he asked dryly. If he had only tried to make Thranduil believe that he didn't care, that he didn't need him... If he had only tried to lie some more so he would see the truth behind this mask...  
  
"Because I know you didn't lose who you are," Thranduil answered softly, wiping the scornful smile from Azadeth's face. "Because I know there is still something left that's worth saving."  
  
The rage was slowly gone and only the pounding heartbeat was left behind. Thranduil rose from the ground after a moment that felt like eternity, still staring down at the warrior with the smallest, yet also the emptiest smile he had ever given to Azadeth. It was actually worse than death or a dagger in his back, seeing that expression addressed to him, but the warrior held those eyes with lips slightly parted, as if they were the last things he could catch before falling.  
  
"I put your weapons to your other side," the prince said casually, expecting Azadeth to follow the way he was looking but the warrior didn't move. Thranduil stayed silent for a moment before he said: "You better rest. I will take a look around."  
  
He was gone without any further comments, his glowing locks soon vanishing in the darkness of the woods, and Azadeth slowly descended back onto the bedroll. He felt tears rolling down his face as he lay, even the stars shining down upon him with disdain. Only Thranduil, the one who was supposed to hate him, didn't. And he didn't deserve that kindness.  
  
He didn't deserve any of it.  
  
Thranduil was out for the whole night and only came back at first light. It was a cool dawn, and Azadeth couldn't help himself as he curled up on the bedroll, trying to keep as much warmth under the cover as he could. He slept only a little but he didn't feel tired, all he felt was emptiness and the numbing pain in his chest. He was quite sure that he ran out of tears finally, it was only his heart that pounded heavily at the thought of the previous day. Guilt overwhelmed him, especially when he heard the light steps of Thranduil approaching from the forest. The prince walked soundlessly, probably unaware that the warrior was already awake. Azadeth didn't mind, though. He could freely focus on things that didn't require his eyesight, things he couldn't catch before.  
  
It didn't last forever, however. Half an hour, maybe a whole. Thranduil was packing, readying himself to leave, and Azadeth was suddenly overtaken by a heart-wrenching fear, that the prince was about to leave without him. That he was about to be left alone. He knew he wouldn't be able to take any of it, not even a minute in solitary.  
  
He moved with an almost desperate momentum, his reddened eyes immediately finding Thranduil's. The prince didn't seem surprised when he looked at the black haired elf, but his face still held the same expression as the day before.  
  
Disappointment, anger, disdain. Azadeth swallowed hard.  
  
"Are you going back to Lindon?" he asked, his voice dripping with doubt. He knew not why he asked this, he just wanted to know. If Thranduil wasn't to take him, he would go alone and give himself up willingly. He didn't care about the consequences as long as he didn't have to die alone in the forest, without anyone knowing. Being no longer part of this world didn't make him fearful, it simply filled him with bitterness and regret. Regret for so many things even he wasn't aware of them all.  
  
"Prepare yourself and bring your belongings," Thranduil said, his voice low as he leaned down for his bedroll and fixed it on his bag. Azadeth watched his long fingers move elegantly over the laces of the bag, and he felt as if he was mesmerized by the mere sight. "I want to show you something before we leave."  
  
"We?" he couldn't help the surprised question slipping out of his lips, and Thranduil's eyes were on him again. Azadeth would've expected a smile on any other day, knowing how Thranduil usually was.  
  
But, then again, nothing was usual now. And Thranduil didn't smile, just as Azadeth thought.  
  
"You are coming back to Lindon with me," he said, looking down again and placing a few other things in his bag. "I will ask the king to pardon you. Otherwise, you would be hunted and killed, and that wouldn't be fair."  
  
Azadeth fell silent, his eyes dropping to the remnants of the campfire. He wasn't a fool to hope for a royal pardon after kidnapping a prince - it was unforgivable. Simple luck was to be praised that Thranduil escaped. Azadeth had done nothing that would have provided him a second chance, that would have proven that he deserved it. If anything, he pushed the last chance of being a good person away the moment he let himself be dragged away with Thranduil. He was nothing but a miserable fool, but he could not even utter a word to convince the prince. The blond elf was already moving towards the forest, not even looking at the warrior again.  
  
He packed in silence, trying to keep his mind from wandering too far. He didn't need to be overwhelmed by pain, grief and fear, and he concentrated on leaving the campsite clear and free of tracks. Thranduil's trace was easy to follow once Azdeth finished arming himself, but, as he walked the sweet green grass of the quiet forest, even his sword felt heavier than usually. The wound on his leg was still aching, but it was significantly better by now, and he guessed Thranduil was to be thanked for that as well.  
  
He inhaled deeply when he spotted the blond locks in the distance, green and brown all around him as he stood, tall and elegant. He could deny it as much as he wanted, but he still looked more of a prince to Azadeth than a warrior, and the black elf fought the urge to smile at that. He felt a numbing, small ache building inside his chest that was terribly familiar to the feeling of missing something, but he ignored it. It wasn't the best time for this.  
  
"The searching parties of Gil-galad are really close, so I left tracks for them to follow," Thranduil said, eyeing the distance instead of looking at the warrior. "What I want to show you is a bit farther. Follow this path, you go first."  
  
They were standing motionless until Azadeth reluctantly gave in, following the said path and taking his steps carefully between the roots. It wasn't a place where many people were coming and going, therefore, Azadeth had no idea what the prince could have wanted to show him. He kept his ears open to everything, taking in every small inch of the forest with his eyes, but what he guessed was their destination was indeed a bit farther away. His steps grew slower and more uncertain the closer he got, and, once he finally stopped and looked down, he felt his heart crawling up into his throat.  
  
Thranduil walked to his side in the same slow pace, but Azadeth didn't look at him. He couldn't. All he had eyes for was lying in the grass, and he felt tears stinging in his eyes again, despite all his willpower to hold them back.  
  
"I went back to look for her body, but I couldn't find it," Thranduil murmured silently, his voice suddenly losing its coldness. It was dripping with compassion now, endless empathy that Azadeth all but started to forget how it felt, and the black haired elf could feel the other's glance on his face. "I made this for her. No one would disturb her here."  
  
There was a single tear rolling down on Azadeth's face, but the warrior swiftly wiped it away. The small grave at the bottom of an old oak tree was almost completely hidden in the tall grass, and only those who looked for it could find it. It was nothing but a simple mound of stones, subtle and radiating warmth, just like his mother.   
  
Azadeth caught himself shaking his head, his chest full of pent up tension that made him feel like exploding.  
  
"She..." he started, his voice shaking but enough to keep Thranduil's glance on himself. He still wasn't sure whether he had the right to tell these things, whether they meant anything or not, but he knew he wouldn't be able to keep pushing the other away. He needed Thranduil more than ever, even though the urge to hide it was still present inside him. "She told me to go back for you. She told me to save you and I couldn't do it."  
  
Thranduil didn't say a word. He turned to look at the grave instead, and Azadeth's body started shaking. He was being selfish again, but he felt too weak to stop himself. He wasn't expecting forgiveness or sympathy, yet, all he saw when he glanced at the prince was the softest expression he had ever witnessed on anyone's face.  
  
"You shouldn't have taken me," he muttered, not even bothering to wipe a new tear. "You should have let me die there."  
  
The prince slowly raised his head, turning his gaze to the warrior. It was a long moment of silence, understanding and peace, a moment while Azadeth felt less alone. He wanted to speak but his throat narrowed around his beating heart, his whole body pounding with his blood in his veins. Warmth and cruel coldness crept under his skin, sending shivers down his spine that made him tremble until, eventually, he was the first to look away.  
  
After this moment he could feel the tension falling on them again, Thranduil reluctantly clearing his throat and taking a step back. Azadeth wanted to snap his head in his direction, but he held his eyes on the grave instead, trying with everything he had to stay motionless.  
  
"I can grant you a few minutes. Then we will have to go."  
  
Even when the prince started to walk away, Azadeth could hold himself together for a little longer. It was his body that betrayed him, his arm automatically reaching for the blond elf's wrist. Thranduil immediately stopped, looking back with wonder, but he did not meet Azadeth's eyes. The warrior could barely see through his tears, fixing his glance on the stones as he tried to find the words most fitting.  
  
He didn't want to be alone. He didn't want to break down.  
  
Not without someone to pick him up.  
  
"Stay," he whispered, a plea so soft and quiet it was almost lost in the silence. It reached Thranduil, though, rendering the prince completely speechless, making him catch his breath. "Please."  
  
And there was no reason to beg any longer, for Thranduil stayed. He pulled the warrior back and held him, offering the last life-saving chance to be broken and mourn what was lost, as well as offering two strong arms to be wrapped with and feel safe. To feel like home within a strange embrace, to feel the comfort and warmth the prince could give him, and Azadeth cried, he cried like he knew he wouldn't have the chance to do it anymore.  
  
With his face buried in Thranduil's neck, he wished for nothing more. Not in that moment, and not for a very long time after that.  
  
  
Three days later the elves gathered in the throne hall of Gil-galad, even though only the most trusted and those that the Queen of Greenwood required to appear. Everyone was unusually silent, and the Lady herself was sitting by the side of the king, creasing her snow white dress between her fingers. She was obviously nervous, and Galadriel, the Lady of Lórien watched her carefully.   
  
The news of Thranduil running away reached even the smallest villages in Forlindon and Harlindon alike, yet, the king spoke of it little and only to those he trusted the most. Galadriel was amongst them, but many in the palace were left in the dark, and, perhaps, it was for the best. Now that everything seemed to come to its completion, the less people were involved the safer the news of this whole affair was.  
  
The safer Thranduil was.  
  
Galadriel sighed deeply as she walked inside the room slowly, her posture as majestic as always. She approached Aerithil so carefully the lady almost seemed surprised to see the oldest friend of her son. Galadriel was smiling as she leaned down, reaching for the older elf's hand and squeezing it lightly.  
  
"Your husband is surely looking upon me with disfavour now that you extended your visit," Aerithil smiled weakly, her expression showing her true age for the first time since Galadriel had known her. She caught herself kneeling on the marble, both of her hands wrapped around the fragile palm and elegant fingers. She gave Aerithil a subtle smile.  
  
"Could parents call themselves parents had they not been able to understand the peril of other parents?" Galadriel asked softly, her eyes meeting Aerithil's. "You should let joy overwhelm you. Your son is returning."  
  
"Believe me when I say it is overwhelming," Aerithil looked down again, shaking her head so Galadriel could see the deepening lines on her face. "Understanding our soul and, therefore, other parents' souls is a gift, yet, we often cannot allow ourselves to fully understand our children's."  
  
Galadriel watched the Queen of Greenwood with the same expression, exactly knowing why Aerithil was speaking of such things. She herself had heard countless times how Aerithil defended Thranduil from the King of the Woodland Realm, how she tried to keep Thranduil's soul pure and of a child as long as she could. It wasn't a wonder Thranduil ended up escaping in the end - there was no one to teach him who he was and what he should do. Aerithil had a strong mind, almost as strong as Oropher's or Thranduil's. It was a fight in which they would not be able to overcome the other. Someone else was meant to triumph, and Galadriel already knew who it was.  
  
"He went too far this time," Aerithil added, her voice barely louder than a sigh. She looked up, her eyes still holding the motherly anticipation of seeing her son again, but there was something else now as well.  
  
Galadriel didn't speak. They all heard the sound of the opening doors, and the peculiar steps of Gil-galad's majordomo were signs enough for the lady to leave the subject unanswered. She squeezed the other elf's hand for the last time, showing her a soft smile before retreating from the throne and watching Lindir from the side.  
  
"My Lord," he spoke up, even though Gil-galad's attention was already on him. "The searching party has returned with the prince."  
  
A blind man could have told how Aerithil was aching to stand up and run down the steps until she reached Thranduil, but she held the armrests of her chair firmly, keeping her face stoic. Gil-galad rose, however, nodding to the guards at the doors after inhaling deeply.  
  
"Let them in."  
  
Tensed silence filled the room when the doors slowly opened, and the Lady of Lórien closed her eyes. She needed not to see Cúon at the front, escorting the prince right next to him, nor she had to see the black haired Noldorin a bit farther behind them. He was surrounded tightly by a circle of guards, and, for the biggest surprise of Galadriel, he seemed to be completely different than the moment he first arrived in Lindon.  
  
However, his change couldn't be compared to Thranduil's, and Galadriel couldn't help the smile that appeared on her face. So she was foolish to doubt the future after all.  
  
"My Lord," Cúon bowed deeply in front of the throne. He only straightened when Gil-galad took the stairs and was already standing close to him, nodding at him with as much satisfaction as he allowed himself at the moment.  
  
"Look for me on the evening, Cúon. Now you are all allowed to leave and rest."  
  
Galadriel opened her eyes but did not move. The elves left the room, even those who guarded the warrior in dark clothes. Gil-galad waved them off with one easy movement of his hand, but he spoke not until only the most important were in the room. Galadriel rested her eyes on Thranduil, his gaze fixed on the floor while Azadeth's was on the prince persistently. He only looked away when Gil-galad approached him, one pointed look enough to make the warrior move forward until he was standing next to Thranduil.  
  
They didn't look at each other. Galadriel was reminded of days when she and her brothers would be lined up in the same fashion, usually before a scolding from their mother and father. It was somewhat different, though, and by the simple stoicness that Gil-galad walked to the stairs with to stand tall was enough to feel the tension falling on the hall. Aerithil didn't move, but Galadriel wasn't able to read her right now. Her focus wasn't on the Queen of Greenwood anyway.  
  
"A prince escaping through the window of his room, running away with a stranger, getting into fight with orcs, lying about his true identity to a king, escaping yet again, and then disappearing in the wilderness," Gil-galad said on a tone dangerously calm, but Thranduil didn't even blink at his words. Azadeth, however, finally tore his glance from Thranduil, his head hanging low as he pressed his lips together, clasping his hands behind his back. "From what I have learnt about you so far, Thranduil, I would never believe all these awful deeds were done by you, had I not known for sure."  
  
Galadriel remembered when, on the Isle of Balar, Thranduil stood knee-deep in seawater, looking for pearls. He held the bottom of his long white tunic as a basket, collecting the small ivory pearls with an amazed smile, his leggings pushed up to his thighs, his long blond locks worked together into one huge braid. He spent hours in the water, between lunch and dinner. It was something his father wasn't proud of, but Thranduil ignored him as in so many other things too. He collected the pearls for his mother, and Aerithil was too grief-stricken to push her own son away. Losing a part of Oropher was a burden heavy enough, a burden everyone tried to help her the best they could, including Galadriel and Celeborn. Thranduil had always loved her with childish affection, and seeing this moment in front of her now, Galadriel knew that everything was doomed to change one day. Thranduil might have been silent, he might have been frightened at the quietness of his mother, but he most certainly wasn't the same elf as on the day he left. He changed, and Galadriel knew that Aerithil felt it too.  
  
She probably feared it, even.  
  
"Your mother and I have always tried to share the matters of Middle-earth with you the best we could, mostly because your father had asked me to take his place and teach you all the things to know about ruling a kingdom," Gil-galad continued, staring down at the marble floor as he walked to and fro. "I am aware of how little I could grant from your father's wish, but I thought you had paid enough attention to your surroundings to know, Middle-earth is at war."  
  
The last words were spoken louder, with sensibly more irritation than the rest of the monologue and Thranduil looked up, something like concern shining in his blue eyes. Galadriel bowed her head, staying just as silent as Aerithil.  
  
"It is no place for anyone to wander off alone, let alone for a prince," Gil-galad stepped closer to Thranduil, but, when his gaze met not the prince's, he turned to Azadeth slowly. The warrior was still facing the floor, but Galadriel could tell even without looking that he was aware of the glare he was gifted by the king. Gil-galad turned back to Thranduil after a moment of silence, taking a deep breath. "Your behaviour is disappointing, outraging, unacceptable and your deeds towards this kingdom are absolutely..."  
  
 _The lewd rose they called you, am I right, Oiocuilë?_  
  
Azadeth visibly tensed at the words ringing in his head, and Galadriel slowly raised her glance to look at him. His whole face changed as he seeked her gaze, his lips trembling and jaw clenching. Galadriel needed no answers and she blinked, inhaling deeply.  
  
 _Fëanor took you into a war you were never meant to fight. What you fear the most might decide your fate now, Azadeth._  
  
"Which one of you came up with the plan?" Gil-galad stopped in his pacing for the first time, eyeing both Thranduil and Azadeth with slightly narrowed eyes. Galadriel glanced at him swiftly, but her eyes were soon on the dark haired warrior again, trying to read his mind the best she could. He was older than her, making it harder for her to channel, but he was weaker and less powerful, given how little he cared for perfecting his skills other than fighting. "And be honest, for I won't suffer any more lies from now on."  
  
Silence didn't last long, but, before Azadeth could've uttered his trembling confession, Thranduil spoke, his words firm and well planned.  
  
"I asked Azadeth to accompany me on my escape," Thranduil said, earning wide eyes from mentioned warrior. "I wished not to go alone, and I needed someone to know the way."  
  
"It's not true!"  
  
Azadeth's objection came as a surprise for everyone besides Galadriel. The Lady of Lórien stood with the same expression, hiding a smile. Maybe Azadeth wasn't so weak after all. At least, his heart seemed to be at the right place, even if only now.  
  
"Why would you have done that?" the king asked, taking one step closer to Azadeth, but he still kept his distance. Azadeth looked at Thranduil first, then moved his glance to Galadriel when he answered, as if she was the one asking him the question.  
  
"My mother was taken as prisoner by an orc sc-"  
  
"He is lying," Thranduil cut him off almost immediately. Gil-galad radiated more frustration than ever before, but Aerithil's face was the same as ever, composed and unreadable. Thranduil was looking at her so far, waiting for a word of either disappointment or forgiveness, but she stayed silent, and it was probably worse than any scolding. The prince was staring straight at Gil-galad now, though, challenge clear in his gaze and chin held high. "His mother is dead, she had been for a long time. He came in the escort of Galadriel, and I took advantage of him."  
  
Galadriel felt a smile tugging at her lips, but she hid it well. She knew the truth, but she also saw the doubt on Thranduil. He knew not whether she would share her knowledge on the matter with Gil-galad or not, whether she proved that he was lying or not. He stood his ground, nevertheless, just like a true prince, and Galadriel fought the urge to show how pleased she was with him.  
  
"How noble of him, trying to defend a prince," Gil-galad turned to Azadeth, the warrior avoiding his gaze as much as he could. The king approached him slowly, his tone calm again, but Galadriel knew what that meant. It was merely the peace before the storm, a feature Gil-galad inherited from his father. She kept her eyes on her cousin, following his movements closely. "And how sad it doesn't make him less of a traitor than if he had been the instigator."  
  
"Enough."  
  
There was no chance for the king's sword to be drawn, for the Lady Galadriel's voice came sooner and Gil-galad's hand only reached the hilt. He was standing an inch away from Azadeth, both tensed in the same fashion, yet, ready to act utterly differently. Gil-galad would have been ready to slay Azadeth, and the warrior was ready to let himself be slain. Only Thranduil's face reflected fear, fear of so many things that it made Galadriel's heart ache in her chest as she walked closer. He feared his father, he feared his mother, he feared never being forgiven, he feared Gil-galad, he feared Azadeth. He feared for Azadeth. And if it meant anything, it most certainly didn't mean making him see as Azadeth is killed off for unclear reasons.  
  
"He is my subject. Let me punish him as I see fit, Your Highness," Galadriel stopped next to her cousin, watching him until the king finally stepped back. If anyone had heard the small, relieved sigh that escaped Thranduil's lips, no one mentioned it.  
  
"Will you promise me to never do such a thing again, Thranduil?"  
  
Anger and frustration was gone from Gil-galad's voice, the quiet tone now only filled with weak trust and the remnants of disappointment. Thranduil tore his glance from Azadeth for the first time in long minutes, swallowing hard as his eyes met the king's crystalline ones. Galadriel knew not what went through Thranduil's mind in that moment, but the prince eventually nodded, his mask finally fallen to the ground, his posture almost defeated.  
  
"I do."  
  
Gil-galad's arm was reaching out afterwards, one hand placed on Thranduil's shoulder as if to comfort him. The prince was an open book all of a sudden, having to promise to live in a cage for the rest of his life filling his features with absolute horror. It was something Galadriel wished she would have never had to witness, but she knew this day would come. He was far from understanding his task just yet, taking all of his responsibilities fully, but he tasted it for the first time, and it didn't suit him.  
  
Not at all.  
  
"I will leave you to your mother, I am fairly sure she has things to say as well," the king said, his usual self coming back as he gave a small smile to Thranduil. Galadriel was already leading Azadeth towards the door, the warrior following her obediently. She let him and Gil-galad go through first, only to look back and see Thranduil breaking down in his mother's arms, and only to hear the muffled apologies between two sobs.  
  
She then closed the doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely comments on the last chapter! I was so happy you liked where this was going, and I truly hope it's not going to change in the future. : )
> 
> Enjoy!


	8. Nightmares From Another Life

_He heard his name echo in the darkness. It was cold and damp in the cave, the wind sounding as if a thousand souls were screaming for help from the Halls of Mandos. Thranduil felt like a soul such as that, captured and imprisoned inside his own body, trying to claw his way out without any success._

_Then, the call came and something moved inside him. His numb fingers twitched, and the aching behind his eyes intensified as his eyelids fluttered. The echo grew louder with every second and, blurred, he could see the one calling him._

Azadeth, _he thought almost immediately, not quite understanding why the thought of the warrior filled him with hope. After all, he was the one who put the prince there in the first place. And, indeed, he wouldn't call him by his name. Only that wretched 'prince' over and over again. No, it wasn't Azadeth._

_It was a voice of kindness and worry, wisdom of hundreds of years, and Thranduil fell to the ground. His wrists were bruised to his flesh from the chains that held him in the air, and he smelled the blood around him. He felt it in his mouth, on his lips, and he saw scarlet dots dancing in front of him. Then, the sour taste was gone and replaced by fresh water, and Thranduil's eyes fell closed again, swallowing like a dying man._

_Now he knew what it was like to feel like dying._

_"Can you walk?"_

_Thranduil felt his head lolling to the side but it was met with something solid halfway through. He then heard a steady heartbeat and he opened his eyes. The darkness was blinding, but two rough hands guided his head to the right direction. Then and only then, he saw Maglor._

_And the prince had never felt more relieved before._

_He stood weakly, not having the strength to ask anything despite the countless questions he had. Thranduil heard voices everywhere around him, inside and outside his head, near and far - voices that, possibly, didn't even come from this world. He felt conflicted as Maglor tried to push him away. All Thranduil wanted was to stay, now that he knew safety wasn't simply a fool's wish to dream of. But Maglor held him by his shoulders firmly, leading him out of the cellar, and Thranduil had heard the command._

Run. Run and never look back. Run until you find him.

Easy for you to say, _he wanted to answer, but he still didn't find his voice. He watched instead, his face pale and scared, like a hunted game. He heard the fire, saw their heat and tasted the sound of his captivators approaching. His head felt like spinning, fuzzy and thick, but Maglor drew his sword and yelled at him._

Just go!

_Then, he obeyed. He ran, he fell, he picked himself up and ran again. He then fell more and more until he realised he was shaking and he stopped, kneeling on the ground, heaving. He wanted to vomit, and his eyes watered from the horror._

_He did pick himself up, in the end. And he ran, ran as fast as his legs could take him._

 

Thranduil gently touched his wrist as he lay on his bed, facing the dull, white ceiling. The bruises were gone now, only the ghost of redness was visible on his skin. It still hurt, though, only as if the real scars were under his skin and not on the surface.

The white walls of Lindon felt strange, almost foreign. Thranduil remembered clearly the walls of trees, the sky lit ceiling of the woods, the giant mountains with their snow-capped tops. He remembered the sight of fireflies and the sound of water, and he missed them. He was a prisoner again, even more than ever before, not allowed to leave his room without an escort. He never complained, though.

The prince of the Woodland Realm wasn't a fool, after all. He knew he could've gotten out of it much worse than this.

The thought of Maglor couldn't seem to leave his mind. The son of Fëanor came back to save him, but he himself never left. His fate was unknown, and all Thranduil knew that Maglor won him time to escape. Time to save Azadeth, time to get away from that wretched place and run north, to find a shelter. How could he do all this, he did not know. He barely remembered the escape itself, everything blurred together, only short seconds captured by his semi-unconscious mind. And, those things that he did remember, he wished he wouldn't.

Once his legs gave out underneath him, he emptied his stomach completely, standing on four in the grass. The images of orcs dragging him away, the pain that was still washing over him in waves whenever he breathed was unbearable, turning his stomach until there was nothing left in it. He felt hot tears streaming down his face, he felt his chest tightening with every rapid heartbeat and he wiped his mouth, turning his head to look at Azadeth. The warrior was unconscious, laying in the dewy grass, breathing in the cool matutinal air. He almost looked peaceful, and Thranduil felt his face twitch with anger.

He wanted to hate him. He wanted to despise him, he wanted to feel like he could've killed him for what Azadeth had done to him. Yet, all he was capable of was to sit on the ground and stare, watch him from a careful distance.

It took him an hour until his body settled down enough so he could walk to the river and get some water. He washed himself, cleaning the bruises on his wrists with care, wincing with each touch. There were deep wounds, as deep as his flesh, and he wrapped them in material torn from his clothes. It should endure for a few hours. He then went back and lit a fire, and only then he could change the bandage around Azadeth's thigh. The warrior reached for his wrist in his sleep at one point, wrapping his fingers around Thranduil's hand, but the prince just shook it off, trying to ignore that it ever happened. If he was a bit too rough, no one could blame him.

Remembering all these things filled Thranduil with a feeling of disappointment and he swallowed hard. Many would've questioned his sanity, after all, he took care of the one that betrayed him and almost ended up being his killer. Yet again, Thranduil guessed, it was in his nature. Once he grew too close... He couldn't simply forget it.

He dismissed these thoughts once he heard the knock on his door. Not many were to visit him, besides his mother and, only occasionally, Gil-galad. Even Aerithil's visits were less in number than before and she only brought him the most important news, ones she thought were necessary for him to learn as a prince.

A term he hated more and more with every day.

Three careful knocks were all that he was given before he stood and opened the door. His king insisted two guards must make sure he can't escape, even though Thranduil made a promise he wouldn't attempt anything like that again. Gil-galad called it 'being cautious', Thranduil called it 'building bars on the door of his cell'. Freedom is often a relative term, it seemed.

Once Thranduil opened the door, he saw the guards firstly. They were serious elves with absolutely zero facial expressions, so Thranduil didn't even try to talk to them. It would have been a waste of time. They were paid to keep him safe, not to keep him entertained, after all. The sight of the person who actually knocked on his door, though, made him quite surprised. It was a completely unexpected visitor, and the prince had to blink before he remembered his manners at last.

"Cirdan," he uttered with shock, stepping back tentatively. "Come in, please."

The old elf didn't hesitate to do so, and the guards let him through without a word. Thranduil was still in daze by this sudden turn of events as he closed the door behind the shipwright, never taking his eyes off him.

Cirdan was one of the eldest, the wisest, the most respected. He had no enemies, no ill-wishers. Also, impressively, he was the only elf starting to grow a beard. Even though he showed his back to Thranduil at the moment, his silver hair alone was enough to indicate his age, and it sent a shiver down on Thranduil's spine. His mother might have been another of the oldest elves, but she looked awfully young for her age, and so did his father. Even they respected Cirdan with utmost sincerity, and Thranduil knew not why this elf would come to see him. He often had discussions with Oropher, but never with him.

He could not decide whether to be happy about that or not.

"I see you returned safely from your adventure," Cirdan turned around slowly, his face completely unreadable but the lines on it soft and honestly curious. He had warm and kind eyes, ones that soothed the anxiousness of the prince without him even knowing. "Do not fret, I do not come to scold you. I suppose you have already endured that."

Thranduil bowed his head the slightest, clasping his hands behind his back. He knew not the right words to speak in this situation, therefore, he just stayed silent and followed the elf's movements from behind his lashes.

"May we sit?" the silver haired elf asked and Thranduil immediately snapped his head up, nodding. Cirdan sat on the edge of Thranduil's bed, then, he patted the vacant seat next to him for the prince to take it. Thranduil approached him slowly, filling the offered place and clearing his throat shortly.

There was nothing to be afraid of, yet, he felt as if it was another test his king or his mother set up for him, to see whether he is fully committed to the case of his future kingdom or not. It filled him with nervousness and he kept his eyes on his thighs, listening to the even breaths Cirdan took next to him.

"You have a stubborn steed," Cirdan's silent words broke the quietness around them and Thranduil's brows rose. "Beautiful, but stubborn as a mule."

"How do you know of Alagos?" Thranduil asked, failing to hide the surprise in his voice. Cirdan smiled as he looked at the prince, the small wrinkles in the corners of his eyes showing his true age yet again.

"Isn't it strange how we recognise what is ours just by knowing one key trait?" the shipwright asked. "There could be thousands of stubborn horses around Arda, but you immediately know which is yours. Fortunately, it is the same with people."

Thranduil furrowed his brows in confusion, but the look in Cirdan's eyes suggested that confusing him was the shipwright's main purpose with this visit. It didn't change the fact that Thranduil understood nothing, and he kept eyeing the other until the older gave a small chuckle and took a deep breath.

"The moment I laid my eyes on the sea, I knew she was going to be the love of my life. She mesmerized me with her depths, and I wished not to part from her. She was, is and always going to be just as stubborn as your horse, but I have given up everything for her, just like a good lover would do," Cirdan said, his eyes fixed on one point somewhere in the distance. "The thought of her gives me comfort, and the sight of her takes my breath away, even after so many ages behind us. She wasn't always there when I needed her and I felt disappointed sometimes, but I never gave up on her, I never stopped trusting her. And I do think this kind of love remains, son of Oropher."

The prince couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when Cirdan's voice became nothing but a mere echo, a distant sound that followed closely behind his raging thoughts and rapid heartbeat. The soothing voice filled the cracks on his soul, and, for the first time ever since that fateful day when everything crumbled down around him, he thought of the colourful memories instead of the monochrome ones. He saw every moment in slow motion, every smile and laughter he shared in the past few weeks, and he forced the painful thoughts out of his mind. He felt that recklessness again, he felt fearless and free, and he felt like reaching out for that image in front of his eyes, longing to touch it. To touch the black locks, the cheekbones, the smirking lips.

He opened his eyes, then, and it was gone. The feeling of Cirdan's glance on him made him blush, but it didn't stop him from turning his eyes to look at the older elf. The shipwright wore the gentlest expressions Thranduil had ever seen on anyone's face, then he smiled and tilted his head the slightest.

"There are thousands of people on Arda, and I could've made you think of anyone," Cirdan said tenderly, and Thranduil's lips parted in wonder. "Yet, you thought of someone specific, didn't you?"

Thranduil tore his glance from the other, feeling completely embarassed and awkward for acting like a wee elfling, but, then again, what was he next to Cirdan if not only a mere child? The shipwright chuckled lowly before he placed a hand on Thranduil's shoulder and stood.

"The King of Arnor sent your horse back to Lindon. He is now in the stables where he belongs," Cirdan said, and Thranduil felt a new wave of shock wash over him. Elendil returned Alagos? After everything he had done? "Also, you must know that, even though they don't knock on your door, some would wish to hear your story, son of Oropher. You only need to break your way through the obstacles to them."

His steps were light as he made his way to the door, reaching behind his robes and pulling out a bottle of Dorwinion wine halfway to the exit. He placed the bottle on the nightstand, then, he left the prince behind with a small smile.

On the evening, Thranduil didn't retire to his room immediately after dinner. The moment Lindir saw him on the doorstep of the kitchens, the majordomo swallowed hard and stood still, not quite knowing what to do. That night, an apology was accepted, and a friendship was made. Thranduil lay his head to a better sleep afterwards.

 

"I have never doubted your ability in making responsible decisions, Artanis, but I do feel like you went a little too far this time."

Gil-galad's smile most certainly didn't reach his eyes, but Galadriel kept her expression straight. She stood by the window, the light of the sun emphasizing her golden locks, and she was all but glowing in her snow white robes, her fingers entwined in front of her thighs. Her face was completely unreadable, and it confused Gil-galad, more than ever before.

"I wouldn't have summoned you here had I not been completely positive that it is the right thing to do," she said, her words delicate and gentle. Gil-galad let out a huff of breath as he straightened in his seat, disbelief lighting in his gaze as he eyed the Lady of Lórien intently.

"Only the Valar know what those two have gone through together," Gil-galad protested firmly, raising his hand to gesticulate. "The mere presence of this warrior can be dangerous, especially on a long journey such as this."

"I think you are overreacting, Your Majesty," Galadriel managed to hide a small smile by turning around to walk the room, slowly and with soft steps. The bottom of her long white dress glided across the marble floor, and the otherwise soothing sound of the material now only fueled the confusion and helpless fury of the High King. He was completely unaware of the presence of a third party in the room, given how the said warrior was now hiding in the back of the room carefully. Galadriel knew, though, but had given no sign of it at all.

It was her idea, after all.

"I don't see how my worry for the prince is overreacting," Gil-galad gave a forced laugh, and Galadriel looked at him, almost amused at her cousin's reaction.

"Thranduil had always known his responsibilities. He had known the future that awaited him," she answered, stopping temporarily in her walk. "He just simply wasn't ready to accept them yet."

"And this alone would be completely acceptable," the king replied immediately, his eyes falling to the floor and eyeing it, as if he was looking for answers there. "He was not born to be a prince, and it can be an awful lot to digest just yet. But it doesn't change the facts, Artanis. He ran away with that stranger, he was ready to abandon his people, his fami-"

"Do not let his actions deceive you, cousin," Galadriel showed a real smile now, a smile that Gil-galad didn't expect from her. "His purpose was not to abandon his past, but to chase the future he would never have the chance to live."

Silence fell on the room afterwards, heavy silence with only little tension. Galadriel moved on to continue walking, her head hanging low as she paced the space between walls.

Galadriel understood Thranduil completely, at least she would have liked to believe that. He had always been like this, going his own way, as long as it made him happy. She guessed this runaway had to do with that adventurous nature of his as well, just like so many other things in the past. She did not have the chance to talk to him properly, to hear all the details of this strange journey, and neither could she pull anything from Azadeth. She knew for certain, though, that it was a lifechanging journey for the both of them, and Thranduil wouldn't hide in the dark for too long. He would have rather died than to endure being imprisoned or controlled by anyone, and he would soon show his real self again.

About the warrior, however, Galadriel wasn't so sure. He thanked her for her generosity, for not punishing him severely and only making him her personal servant for several affairs, but it was only that little conversation they could find time for. She had an inkling anyway that Azadeth would be unresponsive in matters of anything regarding Thranduil - grief can mute someone for good, and is hard to hide. So she didn't push it, and he had done his job in silence.

She also knew that these two needed each other, more than anyone else. Many things could've gone wrong on that journey, but both of them returned safe and sound, even if completely differently than when they set out. And it was enough motivation for the Lady of Lórien to take a stand and do what she felt was right.

"I need Azadeth to make errands for me and, even after I leave for Lórien, he could be useful for the escort. He is a skilled warrior," Galadriel said softly, keeping an eye on her cousin at all times.

The silence grew heavier with every second and only the burdened sigh that escaped Gil-galad was audible in the room. Galadriel already saw the acceptance on his face and she hid yet another smile. There was no wonder Gil-galad was a great king, always and forever accepting the right advices in the right times.

"You do understand that this journey to Greenwood will take weeks to complete? It can be quite eventful and, needless to say, even more dangerous," the king said carefully. Galadriel stopped, facing Gil-galad with her full body this time, nodding slowly.

"I do understand."

"And you do realise that what awaits Thranduil at home will only encourage him to escape the more? Especially if he has the right companion at hand?"

"He made a promise," Galadriel reminded him. He dropped his glance with a half-smile they both knew the message of. "The idea of an arranged marriage might scare him at first, but won't make him run away again, I can promise you that."

Gil-galad narrowed his eyes only the slightest, his facial expression already asking the question that burdened him before he had even spoken it.

"What makes you so sure?"

Galadriel gave him a smile, then, a smile she never intended to hide.

"Because I know him, Your Highness. I know him better than I know myself."

 

_In the flames, he saw it. He saw the charred wasteland, he saw the smoke and the blood. He saw the corpses of those who were once akin to him, who he grew up with._

_He then saw the tent on the horizon, his weak legs carrying him slowly closer and closer. It was a scarlet point in the blackness, the fog and the smell of death. It was thick as he inhaled, even thicker as he let it out. It left his lungs poisoned, screaming for air, rendering his entire body numb. The closer he got the farther he felt from his destination, and he desperately reached after the material, flipping it open._

_It slipped out of his grip at first. He tried again._

**And so, he is unbearably beloved, with fear and blood, dust, fire, home and battlefield, all hopelessly twisting like vines under his skin and shining in his eyes with a furious intensity that leaves the elves trembling.**

_All of the sons were there, with only half dozen eyes turned to him. Two radiated compassion, warmth where only coldness was to be found, and one showed him wrath. It was the worst, the hasty-riser, the agile, the third son. He fueled hatred; he was now dripping with sweat and the despair of a child, just about to lose his father._

_Azadeth breathed in. It hurt still, but it filled him with ice instead of disgust._

_He looked into the eyes of the Fire now, without meeting it completely. His blood masked his face, his azure eyes now turned into red with flames consuming him on the inside. His vengeance was ever so present, but his body betrayed him, not being able to contain him any longer. Azadeth wondered._

_How long was Fëanor dead now? How long was his body only a vessel, too small for all that rage? Was he cracked at places, was he bleeding? Could Eru save him somehow?_

Would he?

_He already knew the answer once that flame heated glance met his, and the warrior shivered. He felt so hot it was unbearable, under that gaze. Yet, he kept shivering, and it hurt, hurt like a thousand knives being driven into his back._

_Suddenly, they were all looking at him. They saw him, searched him for fault. They wanted to blame him, and he wanted to give them a reason. He couldn't. A hand reached out from the flames and summoned him, elegant fingers now soaked in blood tempting him to move._

_He moved. There wasn't much time._

**If the Valar will not act, then he will take the mantle and make sure the screams of his enemies shake the floors of Valinor.**

_Azadeth touched the hand and couldn't pull it away. It burnt him, strong fingers carving into his flesh like acid, and he swallowed. The grip tightened and he leant forward, the flames temporarily hiding behind closed eyelids. The palm of his free hand pressed against a shoulder; he remembered touching it the last time, naked. He shortly wondered whether the scars his nails created were still there or were long gone by now, but he fathomed it would be the latter._

_Yesterday evening felt like it was a thousand ages ago, after all._

_He pressed his face against the rising chest, the heart raging inside its cage like always. It never rested. Fëanor had always told him it couldn't bear being imprisoned, that it would break free one day. Maybe it was that day._

_The hand on his wrist never ceased to burn, and Azadeth felt his own blood running on his skin, right in the direction of his knuckles, dripping from his fingertips. He closed his eyes, body pressed against body, meat against the flames, then he felt a hand in his hair. It stroked at first, then pulled at him violently and Azadeth winced. He stared into the burning orbs and felt himself getting lost, fear rendering him both speechless and motionless._

_Then, Fëanor smiled. His skin was sparkling, melting, and he was falling to pieces, steaming hot._

_"You shall burn with me, Melkor."_

_And in the names of the Valar, he wanted to. The flames touched him, marked him, but they let him go and, moments later, soft hands held him firmly. Someone cried out, but all Azadeth heard was the devastation, all he smelled was smoke and death._

_Fëanor went to flames. And Azadeth saw him, he saw him inside them._

"You."

Azadeth tensed at the words, snapping his head at the direction the voice came from. The elf in front of him was tall and slender, his hair blond with braids on both sides. He was a Sindarin guard, although, Azadeth wasn't able to tell whose commands he followed. He was most certainly not from Lindon, and the warrior would have seen him already had he been from Lórien. The guards of Galadriel looked all the same, but there was something about this guard that Azadeth couldn't quite put his finger on.

He didn't like the conclusion he made as a result.

"Come with me," the guard ordered, his voice cold as he spoke. He immediately turned, but, while standing up to follow him, Azadeth could catch the wrathful look on his face.

He got used to the disdain by then. He received looks of all layers of hatred from the Lady Galadriel's escort and the Lady Aerithil's people alike, but none of them were as disturbing as Gil-galad's subjects. Being alone they only stared, but, once they formed groups, they unleashed their tongues. It didn't hurt, it just stung, but that feeling of numbness remained and the memories came flowing in Azadeth's mind. They had a reason to hate him, after all.

They were on the road for only a few days, but they already passed Mithlond and the River Lune. The Hills of Evendim were towering over them in the distance, and the clear, starry sky shone down on them, even in the darkest night. The night was young and low murmur was filling the camp, guards passing each other at every corner. Some tents were still being raised while others were already dark from the inside, meaning that some were already fast asleep. They made a fast pace, probably because of the rising danger that closed in around Eriador. Therefore, there was no singing or dancing on the evenings, and the hours passed in silent, gut wrenching tension. Azadeth didn't know how long would he be able to endure it, but he tried to keep himself together, not drawing too much attention on himself.

He had had enough of that already.

"May I ask where are we going?" he couldn't help but asked, trying to catch a glimpse of the guard basically running next to him. It was an impossible task, the blond turning his head from him, and Azadeth just gave up trying. He let out a heavy sigh, knowing exactly that he would not receive an answer.

He felt a strange wave of longing for a fight. He had had so much pent up adrenaline he couldn't unleash that it started to split him from the inside, make him itch at places he couldn't reach. The nights were long, the days were dull and there was nothing happening. Galadriel didn't ask for him, he had no one to talk to, and this unexpected invitation was the only thing that made him remember the times when his life was exciting. It might not have been happy, but at least it was exciting. And he missed it, to the point where he had to bite at the inner side of his mouth to keep himself from growling with displeasure.

The tent the stoic guard led Azadeth to was most certainly a royal one, bigger than the rest and more colourful, guarded by more elves than any other. Azadeth already knew who it must've belonged to, but he understood nothing of it just yet and looked at his escort with one brow raised high.

"Where is the knocker?" he asked, a challenging smile already forming on his lips. The guard only addressed him a frown.

"Wait here," the blond muttered before entering the tent. Azadeth sighed deeply, clasping his hands behind his back as he turned around and looked at the campsite. It was huge and bright with torches, and he wished he could be anywhere but here. Especially in front of this very tent.

He ignored the talk behind him, even though he easily heard everything that was spoken inside the tent. Azadeth knew exactly when to turn back, and he slowly stepped forward, the tent opened by the guard for him to enter. He wasn't mistaken, he could tell that by the first look at the inside.

The Lady Aerithil, Queen of the Woodland Realm was standing with her back to the warrior, her long, golden locks reaching down as long as her thighs. Her light green robes only emphasized her cream white skin, tall figure and perfect profile, and Azadeth swallowed. He probably wasn't even supposed to look at her so openly, but he couldn't afford to care. His heart was beating slightly heavier than so far as he bowed, showing the awaited respect. Only now did the guard leave, and silence fell on the tent, not even their breathing audible.

It wasn't fear that quickened Azadeth's heart in that moment. It wasn't even the surprise. It was the sight that rendered him absolutely speechless, the sight that reminded him so much of one particular person, it was rather unbelievable. He had seen the Lady before, and her beauty was indeed legendary, but, from this angle, her resemblance to her son was shocking.

And it was most certainly an image that Azadeth wanted to erase from his mind, but, the more he tried, the more he failed.

"We haven't had the pleasure to talk in private, Azadeth," Aerithil turned around slowly, her face composed and completely unreadable. It was a movement Azadeth had seen countless times from Galadriel, even back in Valinor, and the warrior had to hide a smile that threatened to break its way through the mask of seriousness he wore. The high elves were most certainly all the same. "I suppose it was my fault for not urging the matter more."

"I am here, Your Majesty," Azadeth answered on a low voice, his eyes fixed more on Aerithil's chest than on her face. It was hard to stay still under that searching gaze, those eyes that wanted to solve him constantly. It wasn't pleasant at all.

"Indeed you are," the Lady murmured, taking a slow step closer and taking Azadeth's whole body in. "I wonder why you are still here."

Azadeth's brows creased at that, and, for the first time, he could stand the other's gaze for more than only a few seconds. Despite her stoic expression, there was some softness in her eyes that Azadeth couldn't place, and he felt less tensed now than when he entered the tent.

"I don't seem to understand that, Your Majesty."

Aerithil's smile was a surprise, but she turned her back on Azadeth before she could've seen his dumbfounded face.

"Answer me a few questions, Azadeth," she sighed deeply, reaching for a jug of water and pouring some in two glasses. "How long have you been serving the Lady Galadriel now?"

The pace of Azadeth's heartbeat quickened again. He remembered the words of Galadriel, warning him that these questions might be raised and it is elemental for them to say the same lies. They both agreed on that Thranduil shouldn't suffer any more in this matter, that their primary goal should be keeping him out of trouble. However, Azadeth still had a heavy heart, knowing that he should lie when he was the true culprit. He could only blame Thranduil for lying to the king in the first place, though. Even with guilt killing him slowly on the inside, he had to tell what he was told.

For Thranduil's sake.

"For a few years now, Your Highness," Azadeth bowed his head slightly, eyeing the bottom of Aerithil's dress. He wanted to bite his tongue off, but he swallowed hard instead.

"She must have punished you severely, I fathom," Aerithil glanced back at him over her shoulder, placing the jug on the table again. The remaning glasses slightly impacted and Azadeth blinked away the mist that was clouding his eyes. "Given how you abandoned your post in such a dangerous time."

Azadeth cleared his throat shortly.

"I was removed from my position as a soldier and was named as her personal servant, Your Majesty. I make errands for her now," he answered, his voice still steady despite his inner anxiousness.

The Lady turned around with both glasses in her hands. Azadeth knew she read him awfully easily, but she didn't show any sign of change on her face. She merely nodded towards a chair and smiled, offering a seat without words.

Azadeth slowly approached the chair and sat, accepting the glass of water she gave him. He only hoped it wouldn't be poisoned, but, then again, it wasn't the world of men. She could kill him without even raising a finger, and, honestly, she would have done it already if she really wanted to.

"My husband is a warrior, he had always been," Aerithil started gently as she sat down as well, her robes all but gleaming in the candle-light. Azadeth held the glass firmly in his hands, daring his fingers to shake. "Had he ever been deprived of his post, he would have found a way to break free and do what he was born to do."

"Your husband is lucky, then, for having the tools required to do what he wants," Azadeth answered, slightly irritated by the way Aerithil was playing him. It was a game he never wanted to play, and feeling as if she was mocking him was the last thing he needed.

Aerithil was silent as she sipped from her glass, never taking her eyes off Azadeth. He knew he probably crossed a line, but he didn't understand the meaning of this homely rendezvous.

And when he didn't understand something, he grew quite impatient quite soon.

"You didn't come on this journey as a servant, Azadeth, and we both know it," Aerithil said after gingerly placing her glass on the table. There was only the ghost of the earlier smile on her face now, and Azadeth took a deep breath, trying to keep his expression straight. "You are in a lucky position for never being removed of your post, for it would mean absolutely no allowance to the weapons and, as I see, you are quite ready for a potential orc attack."

Azadeth swallowed but his mask never fell, and he intended to hold onto his lies if he was ought to. The weight of his sword and bow started to pull him down, but he kept looking right at the Lady's face, not giving in to her for even a second.

"These are dire times, Your Majesty. If you were to be attacked right now, no one would be here to save you, only me," Azadeth tilted his head ever so slightly, finding it hard to hide a bold smirk.

Aerithil gave him a small smile in return, but Azadeth could tell immediately that it would never reach her eyes. And he knew he probably did cross the line this time.

"Did you tell that to my son as well when you persuaded him to leave Lindon with you?"

The silence that fell on the tent was almost unbearable and, for a split second, Azadeth feared the glass would break within his grasp. Even though he had an inkling that Aerithil couldn't be fooled so easily, he didn't know she would see through every lie. He underestimated her and, from the look in her eyes, he knew he wouldn't want to do it again.

"I don't know why Galadriel thinks it essential to protect you, but my husband does not have a forgiving nature," Aerithil started, her voice all of a sudden deep and almost threatening, placing a knot in Azadeth's stomach. "I also don't know why you didn't leave so far, but I strongly recommend you to rethink your decision and flee until you can because I swear to the Valar, I won't lie to anyone about what really happened. Do you understand me?"

Azadeth didn't know when he stopped breathing, all he knew was that the warmth he had been surprised to find in Aerithil's glance earlier was completely gone now and was replaced by ruthless coldness. It wasn't the face of a caring mother he was looking at now: she was a Queen, she was protecting her son and, which was the worst of all, he deserved it. He deserved all of it, and she didn't even know half of what Azadeth did to her son. That he gave him to the hands of orcs, that he would have let him die, that he betrayed Thranduil's trust. And it turned his stomach right away.

Before Azadeth could have answered or defended himself somehow, trying to keep the remnants of his pride somewhat, the entrance of the tent flipped open, and Azadeth turned around to see the very reason why he was in there at the moment. And all he could do was blink and let out a trembling breath.

"Azadeth," Thranduil muttered, his face reflecting pure shock as he switched his glance between his mother and the warrior. Azadeth was rooted to the spot once he stood, not being able to move, nor to calm his heartbeat down. He drank in the sight of the combination of those disarrayed locks, the innocent surprise and wide chest, and, apparently, Thranduil was doing the same.

He only managed to hide his daze better.

"You can leave now, Azadeth," Aerithil's voice broke the moment, shaking Azadeth out of his wonder. It felt like cold water on his heated skin, and he turned to look at her, his lips parted slightly. She gave him an empty smile, then rose from her chair and nodded towards him. "I hope you will give thought to our talk."

All Azadeth was capable of was looking back at Thranduil, deep into his eyes one more time before he slowly walked towards the entrance. Then, he left in silence, as if defeated.

If he felt the brush of Thranduil's hand against his own, he ignored it completely. For the sake of the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank Tumblr user memoryordream for her amazing fanmix on Fëanor and his sons. She wrote this amazing text about Fëanor in this post, and the bold parts in this chapter are direct quotations from there. You should all go and read it, then listen to the songs, it's truly fantastic: http://memoryordream.tumblr.com/post/53293753148
> 
> Also, thank you so much for the amazing reviews! It was the first chapter I wrote after a really long break while I had a writer's block, so if it's weaker, this is the reason why. I really hope it's not too confusing, and I also hope you don't freak out too hard at the twists I brought into it.
> 
> Long story short: I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. :')


	9. Stop Running

It was on the next evening when Azadeth started to pack.

It was a decision he did not have the chance to make; he started collecting his belongings absentmindedly, his thoughts completely blank for not talking more than two words all day. There was heavy rain that made it impossible for their group to move on, and, given that there was very little to do, Azadeth caught himself readying his bags by supper. When the rest of the guards and soldiers were eating around the cauldron, he was already reeling his bedroll and fixing it on his pack. It's not like anyone was curious of what he was working on, so no one shook him from his routine, and he only realised what he was doing when he was walking to his horse.

He stopped by her side, gently placing the packs on her side and eyeing the horse's mane intently. Was he really doing this? Was he really running again, after all those years of regretting ever starting it? His hands kept working, his fingers pulling on the saddle steadily and then relaxing on the horse's breast. There was a white spot on the otherwise dark hair, and he followed its outline without having to look at it.

He wanted to stay, yet, at the same time, he wished to run away as far as he could. He knew not where he would go, all alone, but he also didn't know what could it mean if he decided to stay. Sure death would await him, he was positive of that, but that never scared him. No, not after all that he's been through. What was it that he feared, then?

He wouldn't have been able to tell. Maybe to accept that he was afraid. It was a reason good enough to tighten the grip of his other hand on the saddle and to let out a long breath. The horse must've felt his distress for she started fidgeting, her quiet whinnying only reaching Azadeth's ears but no one else's.

"Shh," Azadeth murmured, running his fingers through the silky, dark mane in an attempt to calm the animal. He already learnt how to use his mother tongue in order to make himself understood with horses and it seemed to work now as well. "One more bag and we are ready, my friend."

The horse gave him a low growl in return that placed a soft smile on the warrior's lips, but, once he turned around to reach for his bag, his smile faded. Of all the people he would have expected to stand there, the one he wanted to see the least was looking at him, with Azadeth's bag in his hands. The warrior stared for a moment, eyes wide with shock as they took in the sight of the prince, then, he regained his composure and cleared his throat.

No words came, nevertheless.

"I thought you would be tougher than that," Thranduil noted, his eyes and face completely unsentimental. Azadeth couldn't help the lump that grew in his throat the longer he stared at the blond, the son of Oropher appearing taller than anytime before. Azadeth swallowed hard, his eyes sliding to examine the wet grass in the darkness instead of the glowing golden locks. It could have been the middle of the night, and Thranduil's hair would have sparkled in the blackness all the same. "Where are you heading?"

 _Don't answer,_ came the little voice in Azadeth's head almost immediately. He wanted to take the advice and just tear his bag from the other's hand, riding off in the distance as fast as he could. Yet, he felt as if his legs were suddenly rooted in the soil, his stomach dropping lower and lower with every heartbeat.

"Did you follow me?"

Thranduil chuckled lowly, but his eyes stayed empty.

"Don't be so full of yourself," the blond looked at him, slowly approaching but never intending to return the bag. Azadeth had a strange, tense feeling inside his chest that wanted to make him explode, but he kept it at bay and never let his eyes fall under that searching gaze. "Did she threaten you?"

"Did who threaten me?"

"My mother."

Azadeth couldn't help the small smile that appeared on his face. What was the proper answer to that? Was there even one to begin with? Did she threaten him? He wouldn't have been able to tell. She told him to leave, that was true, but was it a real threat?

If he was to choose between who to listen to, Galadriel or Aerithil, he would have been in trouble. But his decision whether to stay or leave didn't depend on who was telling him what to do. It lay in this very elf in front of him now, in those unreadable eyes that tried to solve his mind so hard. He failed, of course. Azadeth was an impregnable fortress once, and, even though some of his walls crumbled down, that didn't mean he gave himself in that easily.

Not to Aerithil, not to Galadriel, and most certainly not to Thranduil. For the first two, he had no liking to. For the latter, he had no right to.

"Why would she have threatened me?" the warrior asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Thranduil gave him a confused look, but he mirrored Azadeth's movement eventually. It was hard to stand it without smiling again, but Azadeth managed to hold it together.

"Because she knows the truth and she thinks she is protecting me?"

"Don't be so full of yourself," Azadeth answered, luckily catching the flash of surprise in Thranduil's eyes. "She said nothing about you. She supposes you can protect yourself from the big bad wolf already."

"Don't play that card on me," Thranduil shook his head with another smile completely lacking emotions, and Azadeth tensed. "You are running away because you got scared. Don't be ashamed of admitting it. I would think about running too, if that gives you solace."

 _It doesn't,_ Azadeth thought with a snort but he kept his face straight and stared right into Thranduil's eyes. He tried to recognize anything he had seen there before, anything that could have helped him, but Thranduil learnt how to protect himself as well.

Oh, they were a good pair, the two of them.

"Why are you here, Thranduil?" Azadeth asked after a long moment of silence. It was indeed dead quiet in that part of the woods now, not even the sounds of the camp audible at that very spot. Azadeth could count every beat of his heart, hearing the pounding of his own blood crystal clearly, but he tried to focus on the person in front of him instead. The blond elf who eyed him intently before taking in a sharp breath, apparently gathering his thoughts to give a fine answer.

"Running away is a convenient way to get rid of problems, or so I was always told," the prince started, his voice deep but softer than before. It actually sent a warm shiver down Azadeth's spine that he wasn't expecting, and he was glad that, in the darkness, the other couldn't catch him shivering. "But it is not true, for everyone who ever tried to do it knows that your problems will follow you, wherever you end up. You are so busy thinking about escaping that you forget completely what you are leaving behind, that there might be some hope left if you are willing to fight for it."

Azadeth blinked and his stomach narrowed into one small knot inside his belly. His lips felt way too dry to use them for speaking, and, as Thranduil reached out and gave him the bag, he spotted something in those eyes he hadn't seen before.

The beginnings of a smile.

The warrior took his bag with numb fingers, slowly lowering his gaze to look at their fingers brushing against each other delicately. It was a short touch, but definitely enough to set Azadeth's skin on fire. Of course, he showed naught of it.

Thranduil turned and left without a word, disappearing in the woods with long, slow steps, and Azadeth stared after him for a good while. Then, his horse seemed to grow impatient in the long wait, and Azadeth looked back at her, taking a deep breath.

He wondered how long she knew this would happen.

  
"I welcome you, Queen of the Woodland Realm and all your company, here in Imladris."

Thranduil had never been to Rivendell before, but the sight of it most certainly took his breath away. He could barely stop himself from staring at the high hills and waterfalls even for the time he dismounted his horse, but he didn't forget his manners. He bowed his head when the Lord Elrond reached him, greeting him and his mother personally, for most certainly they were the main guests of this sudden visit.

Even though Thranduil could never find the common ground with Elrond, he remembered all the things that Lindir told about him, and it most certainly made the half-elf seem greater in his mind.

"I am glad to see you suffered no harm on your journey, Prince Thranduil," Elrond gave him a soft smile after he also bowed his head, his hands clasped in front of his scarlet robes. Despite the smile, Thranduil could see the worry between the creases on his forehead. "I heard you raised dust on the West with your sudden disappearance."

"How kind of the king that he kept it in such secret," Thranduil sighed deeply, unbuckling his bag from the side of Alagos. He could still see the smile widening on Elrond's face, though, and it rendered him surprised for a short moment, thinking he would have rather been looked at with disdain than amusement.

"As a Lord, I think what you have done was completely unacceptable and I agree on everything that Gil-galad said," Elrond started, kindling enough of Thranduil's curiosity so he would leave the bags and pay attention instead. "As someone, however, who was merely destined for a very similiar fate such as yours, I think you did well to make the fur fly. We needed this excitement in these sad days."

It seemed as if, save for Gil-galad, none of the great rulers of Arda were born to rule kingdoms. Thranduil smiled at the "outrageous" remark, never thinking Elrond would be able to say anything like that, but Thranduil immediately felt better about coming here. He thought it would be yet another place to be the target of gazes dripping with pity and gossip, but, seeing the difference in what he thought of Elrond and how he really was, he was relieved.

"It better stayed between us, or you would most certainly become the latest aid in my potential attempt to try and run away again," Thranduil smirked, throwing his bag over his shoulder.

"It seems I have already done tremendous amount of harm to you, even though you were here for less than ten minutes," Elrond said with a deep sigh, shaking his head slowly, and Thranduil couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. "I might as well tell you that you didn't leave a terrible impression on others either."

Thranduil's confusion was palpable in the air, and Elrond quickly added:

"The King of Arnor," he explained, the soft smile on his face ever present. "He told me of this personally and, of course, politely asked me not to tell you, but I trust you won't tell him I betrayed his wish."

Thranduil's brows rose high at the unexpected news, his mouth slightly hanging open from the surprise. Could it be that Elendíl didn't cast stones at him for what he had done? For a prince, lying about his name and true identity brought the greatest shame on his family, resulting in everyone condemning them. He made it worse by being caught on the run, running from his responsibilities - yet, Elendíl seemed not to be disappointed in him.

Indeed, he was there for less than ten minutes, and his arrival was full of surprises.

"How is that possible?" Thranduil asked with a short laugh of disbelief.

"He grew fond of your young, rebellious spirit, I fathom," Elrond sighed, honestly seeming like he couldn't quite put his finger on the reason. "I meant it as no offense, of course."

"None taken," the blond shook it off almost immediately, itching to hear more, but the servants were growing restless in the wait to lead Thranduil's horse away and show him to his room. Everyone else was slowly gone from the huge court and Thranduil held back his tongue, clearing his throat shortly before looking up again with an apologetic smile. "Thank you for being honest. I shall attempt to return the gesture somehow during my stay."

"You can return the gesture by relaxing and enjoying your stay here," Elrond bowed his head again, stepping back to give space for the servants. Someone swiftly led Alagos away, another took the rest of the bags and the rest were simply following the elves back into the palace.

The evening was indeed relaxing afterwards. Thranduil could actually forget completely of all the tormenting memories for the first time, memories that haunted him, keeping him cautious. The hot bath that was drawn for him cleaned his body and soul alike, washing away the dust of long weeks of riding that was already sticky against his skin.

He took his time, braiding his hair only to unbraid it, trying on several different clothes only to feel the silk pampering his body. He hadn't felt this content for a very long time, but he seeked not to search the past on that evening. He truly wished he could keep this peace in his soul, even when he was ready for dinner and was already standing in front of the mirror, being Prince Thranduil again. His face regained his color when he smiled at his reflection, then he took a deep breath.

He was happy. Truly happy.

Rivendell was full of his people and he walked amongst them without fear of being mocked for his past mistake. Stepping inside the main hall, he was immediately met by dozens of glances but he walked to the table where his mother was sitting with another elf. He slided onto a chair next to her.

"You arrived at the most impeccable moment, Prince Thranduil," the golden haired elf sitting at the table quickly swallowed the sip of wine he took from his cup, smiling at Thranduil and his mother fondly. "The Queen just told me she would like to retire for the evening, but the night is so young! Convince her to stay, My Lord. She is an unexceptionable company."

Aerithil laughed, her voice giving away how tired she was, and Thranduil reached for her hand, holding it gently.

"I would love to spend the evening with you, Glorfindel, but don't you see how much you torture me? My heart is bleeding to leave you like this," she squeezed her son's hand lightly, glancing at him quickly before she turned back to Glorfindel and laughed again at his expression. Thranduil had heard of him earlier, but it was the first time they were face to face. Some mentioned him as "the elf too good for death", others had different names for him.

Now Thranduil could finally see why it was his main epithet.

"Go, then, while I can bear the thought, but do it quickly, or I might change my mind," Glorfindel sighed dramatically as he raised his chin, his expression giving away how false his resentment really was.

Aerithil chuckled again, smiling fondly at the Noldo before turning to her son and pressing a kiss on his cheek gingerly.

"Enjoy your time here, aerlinn nín," she whispered, caressing Thranduil's face. She then rose from her chair, bidding good night for Glorfindel. She held her dress with care as she left the table, and Thranduil stared after her. Something most certainly changed about her, something that indicated all those arguments they had had in the past weeks, arguments over nothing. She seemed more tired, distracted and worried, and Thranduil found it hard to handle the situation properly.

Maybe he wasn't even meant to handle it. He couldn't tell.

"Tell me, Prince Thranduil," Glorfindel started, pulling Thranduil back into reality immediately. The younger elf blinked with curiosity, the kindness on Glorfindel's face still shocking him to the core. "Do you dance?"

Shock soon turned into something else, something utterly different, and Thranduil was glad he didn't raise his newly received cup to his lips for he would have choked on the wine surely. He laughed heartily, and Glorfindel watched with silent amusement.

"Only if everyone was devastated and I would want to make sure they forget about their misery," Thranduil smiled as he sipped from his drink. The taste of the Dorwinion was unmistakeable, and it sent shivers down his spine. Gods, he missed this flavour.

"Aren't you too hard on yourself?" Glorfindel asked softly, obviously hiding a chuckle. Thranduil heard it in his voice, nevertheless. "Anyone can dance. Also, they do not seem that happy to me that they couldn't do with some joy."

Thranduil's face morphed into a mixture of confusion and disbelief, a smile also present on his lips as he eyed the golden haired elf in front of him.

"Are you telling me my people are sad?" Thranduil narrowed his eyes playfully, earning an honest grin from the other immediately. It seemed as if it was his default expression, always being cheerful while everyone was looking for a reason behind it.

Maybe there doesn't always have to be a reason at all.

"No, of course I am not," Glorfindel started apologising. His glance, however, was fixed on a point behind Thranduil's back, but the prince didn't even notice, given how busy he was studying his glass of wine. "But do you realise that ever since you entered the hall, one pair of eyes is constantly following you?"

Thranduil looked up from examining his drink, only to meet the cheeky grin on the other's face. The knowing look in those eyes suggested many things, but, once Thranduil turned to see what Glorfindel exactly meant, he felt his heart skip a beat.

Out of all people he expected to see there, it was the one he didn't. For Azadeth was sitting at a nearby table, indeed staring at him intently as if he was trying to set fire to Thranduil's clothes just by looking hard enough. The prince felt heat spreading in his chest as he met the crystalline eyes, but then, he turned back to Glorfindel swiftly, pulling on his cup with slightly shaking fingers.

Glorfindel's chuckling would have been enough to tell Thranduil all his thoughts, but the older elf couldn't resist opening his mouth and making a satisfied sound.

"You are either being too hard on him, or he is being too hard on himself. Or both."

Thranduil couldn't exactly remember the last time he was truly hard on Azadeth. Probably the day after Thranduil saved him in the woods, after nearly dying himself at the hands of orcs... Where Azadeth had gotten him. Yes, he was hard on him then, and he knew he should've probably been hard on him ever since. Yet, all he did was protecting him constantly, taking the blame for Azadeth's sins and suffering the consequences instead of him. Thranduil even convinced him to stay and then spent countless evenings with him, simply talking about the most irrelevant subjects that had ever existed. They carefully avoided talking about anything that happened on that fateful day, including how Maglor saved Thranduil and then Thranduil nearly leaving Azadeth to die by his mother's side before thinking about it twice. Instead, they talked about the stars, dragons and elven guards, tales from their childhood and wishes for the distant future. At the beginning even these conversations were tensed, sometimes cold and other times swiftly growing dull. Then, the more Azadeth seemed to open up, the more Thranduil was forgetting about their troubled past. By the last few days, he was downright awaiting the evenings when they could talk, although, he had never told that to Azadeth.

It made both of them feel better about themselves. Right until it started to mean something more than simple talks. Right until it became a goal that Thranduil set before himself, something that was worth surviving the days for. And he knew it was a dangerous turn of events.

"Don't you want to talk to him, maybe?" Glorfindel spoke again, shaking Thranduil from his thoughts. The prince looked at the other like he was waking from a dream, his lips slightly parted in wonder and embarassment. "He looks like a kicked dog. Perhaps you wouldn't have to dance to give him solace, a few kind words would be enough."

And the suggestion would have been enticing, hadn't Glorfindel missed a tiny detail that was very much important in this situation.

They were not allowed to talk. At least not in front of the public. And that is why they chose the late hours when no one saw them. Or they truly hoped that no one did.

Silence grew longer and longer the more Thranduil tried to come up with a proper explanation why this problem was insolvable, but Glorfindel's eyes never wandered from the prince. He radiated nothing but patience and kindness, and he eventually realised that it was a matter Thranduil did not want to discuss. The older elf laughed it away then, lightly as if it was only easy talk on weather, leaning back in his seat and sighing deeply.

"Elves often become too serious on matters of the heart," Glorfindel mused, gently fingering the runes carved into his glass. Thranduil watched as if the sight mesmerized him, but his mind was somewhere far away, his thoughts being filled with other matters. "We see caring as a weakness, making mistakes as sins haunting us for our eternal lives. It is only permitted for Men to do such things, the same way as it is only permitted for Dwarves to sing and dance when they are burdened with grief and sadness."

Thranduil looked up carefully. Glorfindel was deep in his thoughts, even though he started smiling again once he met the gaze of the younger elf. Thranduil couldn't help but did the same.

"When did you come to know all those things?"

"When I died," Glorfindel answered easily, leaning forward only the slightest so he could look deeply into Thranduil's wide eyes. It was a reply the prince never expected to hear, but it caught his attention nonetheless. "You see, we all know what you have done. Some condemn you, some are neutral, and only a very few would say they would've done the same. But tell me now, Prince Thranduil, how do you feel about what you have done?"

Thranduil felt downright speechless now, not having any idea on how this question could be answered without raising dust. Then again, he seemed to understand what Glorfindel was trying to get to. He decided to be honest.

"I did not regret it," he said, his voice barely a whisper. Glorfindel smiled at him brightly, a light chuckle escaping him afterwards.

"You made a mistake, at least that is what everyone would like you to believe. For you, however, it is never going to be a mistake, because you never regretted it," Glorfindel explained quietly, and Thranduil could've sworn he had never seen an elf being so excited about something before. "Are you less or more of an elf now? I cannot see that you lost your pointy ears or eternal years to come. Can you?"

Thranduil laughed at that, feeling a flush in his face that was quite new for him. He completely forgot about Azadeth for a moment, but he caught Glorfindel looking over his shoulder once in a while, reminding him of the warrior's presence in the room. It was disturbing and comforting at the same time, but he couldn't afford to care right now.

He felt so good it almost made him guilty.

"What I mean is, I do think it is a must to commit a 'crime' once in a while," Glorfindel said, his voice low and comforting. "Others will most certainly want to make you feel bad about it, but you have to remember that, until you don't regret it, it is not a real crime. You learn from it, and you won't lose who you are."

Thranduil had always been educated thoroughly, and he remembered many things from the years when he was learning. Yet, no teacher could show such wisdom as Glorfindel did right now, and Thranduil felt as if he was given the meaning of life. He hadn't realised how much he wanted to hear these words until the moment he did, and it explained everything he had ever doubted.

He simply regretted he had to wait so long for this moment to come.

"And now, if you will excuse me, I must see the Lord Elrond," Glorfindel rose from his seat with a great sigh, drinking the last sip of wine from his cup before stretching out his long limbs. He was indeed a tall elf, almost as tall as Thranduil, and the prince had to look up to properly see him. "I hope you will know what to do now, Prince Thranduil."

The younger elf showed a rare smile he didn't even know he had as an answer, nodding slightly at Glorfindel.

"I think I will manage from now on, thank you."

Glorfindel seemed truly happy to hear that, gifting Thranduil with one of his most cheerful grins before leaving the prince and walking out of the room. Thranduil looked after him with the same expression on his face, but his smile soon fell somewhat when he noticed that Azadeth was also gone from the room. Strangely, he still felt his watchful gaze, yet, it only seemed to be the ghost of him that looked over him at all times.

He took a short breath in, finishing his wine before he stood to retire to his room for the night. The long journey tired him completely, his limbs were sore and his head spinning, but, he fathomed, it might've just been the effect of the wine as well. He couldn't remember when was the last time he had a proper nighttime rest in a decent bed, but he was already smiling at the mere thought of the feathery pillows waiting for him in his room.

The sound his robes made on every corner the quicker he approached his room made him feel like he had a mission to complete and he grinned at the thought, just like a child when he finds a new game to play. Once he entered the corridor of his room, however, he was soon frozen on the spot, for the sight that welcomed him was one of a kind and utterly unexpected.

For once, Thranduil had not known that the room of Lord Elrond was on the same corridor as his own, and secondly, he most certainly didn't expect Lindir exiting it. The majordomo had his cheeks flushed, trying to set his disarrayed black locks right while he still stayed close to the door. Thranduil heard nothing of the discussion that went on between Elrond and Lindir, but he supposed it was something private, for the younger elf was completely blossomed and happily smiling. The prince could catch Elrond's hand on the other's face, gently stroking it one more time before the door closed and the majordomo turned to leave.

Until he caught Thranduil staring at him. And it was a moment to remember, Thranduil could already tell.

"My Lord," Lindir breathed, his voice at least an octave higher than the usual. Thranduil couldn't help the knowing smile appearing on his lips and he folded his arms in front of his chest, patiently waiting for Lindir to catch up with him. The majordomo's every step was as if he had just made a terrible crime and the prince was smiling more and more widely until it seemed like his grin was about to split his face in half.

Between his return from his little escape and setting out on this journey, Thranduil spent an awful lot of time with Lindir in the kitchens. He knew it was essential to apologize for his behaviour, using him and his talent as a distraction while he was running away, and Thranduil had never felt more relieved when Lindir forgave him without even thinking about it. It took more time until they could open up and talk like real friends, given how Thranduil would have preferred to keep everything that happened to him a secret, but, whenever he shared glimpses and bits of his adventures, Lindir always offered something in return. It wasn't long before Thranduil learnt of the majordomo's feelings for the Lord of Rivendell and their interesting past while Elrond was still living in Lindon. The prince was always listening whenever Lindir decided to tell him what burdened him, and it somewhat filled the hole that the betrayal of Azadeth had blown on Thranduil's soul.

At least partly. Now, even though the hole was still there, the surroundings started to heal and he owed it all to Lindir.

"Uhm," the black haired elf started, his eyes fixed on Thranduil's chest. The prince didn't want to speak, but he knew that it would take some time until Lindir could open up properly. He didn't exactly look like he planned to tell anyone about this, after all. "I am, uhm..."

"I might look like I am patiently waiting, but I am itching to learn what just happened, so please, don't torture me, Lindir," Thranduil couldn't help but sputtered it quickly, doing his best to contain himself, but it was pretty hard. Seeing how much Lindir had suffered ever since Elrond had left Lindon was a disturbing sight, and now that it seemed to come to some sort of resolution, he was more than excited to hear the details.

Lindir chuckled anxiously, constantly dropping his glance whenever he decided to look at Thranduil. Eventually, though, he opened his mouth to talk.

"I told him."

Thranduil's brows rose ever so slightly, and Lindir's eyes finally settled on him.

"I thought you said you would never bring yourself to confess."

"And I thought I would never do it," Lindir explained quietly, a small smile ever present on his face. It disturbingly reminded Thranduil of himself after that particular kiss in the woods, but he tried to ignore the thought and focus strictly on Lindir. "But someone must have figured it out or caught me staring, I am not sure. He convinced me to do it, and he was right. Lord Elrond does care for me, Prince Thranduil."

Thranduil lost his chain of thoughts somewhere at the point where Lindir mentioned that stranger who "caught him staring", and some strange inner voice kept telling him it wasn't just a random stranger. He tried to find a reason why he shouldn't care, but he must've not tried hard enough, for he was already forming a question in his mind before he could've thought about it twice.

"Who convinced you?" he furrowed his brows, his heart beating heavily in his chest. Lindir looked confused, shaking his head a little as if he didn't understand why it was so important.

"I don't know his name. He is most likely a warrior, although, I have often seen him by the Lady Galadriel's side back in Lindon," he shrugged, looking straight into Thranduil's eyes. "Do you know him perhaps?"

The blond elf didn't need a more detailed description than that to recognise the stranger and his eyes automatically closed, a long sigh breaking out of him right away.

"Azadeth," he murmured, already starting to move back and walking out of the corridor.

"My Lord?" Lindir yelled after him, but something took Thranduil away more quickly than to start explaining himself. It might have been madness, anger, curiosity or, simply, a reason to look for the warrior and talk to him finally, but he tried to deny the last possibility with every cell in his body.

He was walking fast, his hair flaunting in the air as he took the stairs out of the palace and headed straight to the tents where the guards and soldiers heading to Greenwood had been placed. Rivendell had a limited capacity, and Thranduil cursed when he lay his eyes on the camp. It was huge, there were tents for basically everyone, and finding Azadeth was surely going to take a long time if he wanted to stay out of sight. After all, he still wasn't allowed to talk to the warrior, and he didn't need the stress that came with being caught.

For his luck, there weren't many elves around in the camp, most of them walking around in the woods and enjoying the starry night sky instead. Some were sitting by the campfires, others were already in their tents, but most of them didn't even notice the prince. Thranduil hid his face whenever he could, still keeping his eyes open, following his intuition on the whereabouts of Azadeth. He was most likely to have his own tent, given how he was Galadriel's escort, and Thranduil guessed no one would have wanted to share tents with him anyway. He was an outcast, the subject of talks for the elves of every kind - that is why Thranduil tried to provide him some company, even though their talks weren't deep or interesting, and they didn't last for too long. The prince didn't have any idea why he was so determined to find him, but he knew he wouldn't be able to rest that night hadn't he talked to Azadeth first.

Trusting his elven senses and his intuition, he slowed down in front of the last tent of the camp, the one farthest from the palace. There wasn't any fire in the front, and Thranduil could tell that only candles gave some light even inside, and he wanted to snort. It was so typical for Azadeth, staying as far from everyone else as he could, yet, he couldn't blame him. He would've done the same in his place, probably.

Even though he did find the tent and he was positive it was the one he was looking for, Thranduil couldn't make himself enter. He knew not why he came at all, nor he knew what he would say once he faced Azadeth. To meet the warrior, however, he didn't have to enter the tent for, because the dark haired elf appeared behind him out of thin air, starting Thranduil nearly to death.

"What are you doing here?"

It was a simple question, yet, Thranduil's conscience probably wasn't spotless, given how scared he was once he turned around to face Azadeth. The warrior seemingly enjoyed the sight of the blond being so frightened, but he quickly grabbed his shoulders and led him into the tent, closing it behind them carefully.

"You shouldn't have come here, anyone can see you," he scolded him without actually looking up or sounding motherly. Thranduil had had enough of that in the last two weeks for a lifetime.

"No one saw me," Thranduil answered, his voice sounding unusual even for his own ears, but he dismissed the thought and, instead, he was looking around in the tent. It was so simple it almost made Thranduil sad. There was a chair with a table, his bedroll and a basin, his bags and weapons under the table. He had nothing else, and it placed an uncomfortable knot in Thranduil's chest that ached more and more the longer he was looking for something... sentimental. He couldn't find anything.

Azadeth slowly walked inside the tent, placing his sword on the table and turning to Thranduil with a sigh. He looked honestly curious, taking in Thranduil's whole presence with one long look, then returning to his eyes and raising his brows slightly.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of having you here?" Azadeth showed a weak smile, but Thranduil saw through him already. He had always used this tactic whenever he was trying to seem indifferent, even though he had real feelings that he attempted to deny. And he couldn't fool Thranduil, not anymore.

"I spoke to Lindir and he told me you talked to him earlier." Thranduil felt proud that he could muster up some of his composure and come up with the original reason why he came for, even though there was more of the alterior motive in that decision than the desire to talk about Lindir's love life. He didn't take his eyes off Azadeth, though, and the warrior's face didn't change even an inch.

"If you want to educate me on how I shouldn't intervene in other people's business," Azadeth started, folding his arms in front of his chest, "then I think you should know that-"

"I wanted to thank you," Thranduil cut him off gently before Azadeth would've been able to finish. The warrior most certainly wasn't expecting that, for his expression changed and shock was obviously written all over his face. Thranduil's heart was heavy in his chest but he never stumbled, keeping eye-contact constantly. "He would've never known his feelings were reciprocated had he not gathered enough courage and confessed. And he wouldn't have done it without you, so... Thank you."

The surprise on the black haired elf's face was so honest that Thranduil started smiling a little, a low chuckle escaping his lips soon after.

"You really thought that all I can do is pick a quarrel all the time?" the prince asked, slowly walking around the tent until he arrived next to Azadeth, blinking at him from dangerously close. He didn't mind, and neither did the warrior. "Especially that it turned out all well."

Azadeth laughed shortly with disbelief, his glance dropping to the ground.

"I really have a hard time deciding what to think of you sometimes, son of Oropher," he looked up at the other again, offering him a doubtful smile that Thranduil only answered with narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. He didn't feel intimidated by this closeness, if anything, it brought him a sense of safety, and he shrugged lightly.

"Maybe I'm doing this on purpose," Thranduil mused, slowly stepping back but never taking his eyes off Azadeth's unreadable face. There were so many feelings in his eyes that it made him a mystery for Thranduil, but he knew it was way past the time to stay and try to solve him. Besides, if he stayed any longer, he would really get caught and he truly didn't wish to go through that torture. Not again.

He turned and walked towards the entrance of the tent, reaching for the material. He was already about to pull it aside and leave, but his body didn't seem to obey the orders of his mind. A voice echoed inside his head that made him freeze, his hand still lingering in the air while he was remembering his earlier conversation with Glorfindel.

_Others will most certainly want to make you feel bad about it, but you have to remember that, until you don't regret it, it is not a real crime. You learn from it, and you won't lose who you are._

Did he want to leave the tent in the first place? Did he decide to leave because he didn't want to stay or because he was afraid of the consequences? What was it that he really wanted to do?

Thranduil let out a small huff of breath at the realisation, turning around swiftly. He was immediately met by Azadeth's curious and hopeful glance, and he smiled at him knowingly.

"Tell me about Galadriel before she crossed the sea."

Then, Azadeth smiled back at him, and Thranduil felt the pace of his heartbeat quicken. He was committing a crime, yet, he had never felt so free in his entire life.

And gods, did it feel good.

  
"Wait, which one is it?"

Azadeth's low chuckle filled the crisp of the night, the quiet whispers lost in the forest. Thranduil rolled his eyes, sitting up on the branch where he was relaxing and climbing up next to Azadeth. The warrior's head was out of the leaves and the nightsky's bright stars were shining down on his raven black hair as if magic was pouring down on them. It gave his locks a blueish hue that Thranduil was admiring for a short while before looking up and pointing at a star.

"That one."

"This is not helping," Azadeth kept chuckling, as if he was doing it on purpose, and Thranduil felt a strange urge to elbow him between the ribs for playing games on him. Instead, he frowned at him with false resentment and leant impossibly close, staring up from nearly the same angle where Azadeth was doing the same from.

"Three stars, forming a perfect triangle. You have to be blind not to see it."

Azadeth breathed in deeply, not conspicuously enough for the prince to notice it, though. Maybe he was only lying about not finding the constellation still because he wanted the other closer to him - even he wouldn't have been able to tell. What he knew, however, was that he would have never exchanged that moment, not even for the world.

"I see it now," he murmured quietly, glancing at Thranduil only from the corner of his eye. He dared not turning his face towards him, too afraid of the consequences. Had they got only one inch closer to each other, he would have lost himself completely.

Just like the night before.

Thranduil had spent the last several nights with Azadeth, and the warrior never once complained. Anything was better than spending restless nights alone, twisting and turning on his bedroll and then, the next morning, starting it all over again. Thranduil was talking to him with honest curiosity, asking him about his past, enjoying the time spent together just as much as Azadeth. The dark haired elf often told him stories of the battles he had seen, the Valar, the beauty of the Undying Lands. He didn't go too deep into the past, and he never shared the parts of his history that pained him the most. He could keep Thranduil entertained, and that was all he needed.

Then, the night before, Thranduil turned to him while lying on the ground in Azadeth's tent, opening his mouth for a question.

"You were close to Fëanor, weren't you?" the prince asked so quietly it was almost lost in the silence. Azadeth tensed ever so slightly, not letting his glance drop from eyeing the ceiling. "That's why you crossed the sea. For him. You took the oath and fought."

Azadeth's eyelids fluttered closed for a moment before he could've stopped them, and the tension that pushed his chest down felt heavier and heavier with every second.

It was the last thing he wanted to talk about. Apparently, Thranduil was too smart for the matter to just miss his attention.

"Do you really want to know?" Azadeth asked gingerly, a slight layer of disbelief ringing from his voice as he turned his head towards the blond elf. Thranduil gave him a small smile, almost pleading as he dropped his glance to stare at Azadeth's shoulder.

"Only if you want to talk about it."

Azadeth turned back to examine the ceiling, sighing. He knew he wouldn't have to talk about it, but now, a part of him wanted to let him know. He wanted Thranduil to learn from his mistakes, to know and judge him fairly, not just by one mistake he would never commit again.

He took a breath and remembered - remembered the things he wished so hard to forget.

"Fëanor was a difficult person," he started, the ever first time he had seen him lingering in front of his eyes. "He could not bear if something did not fit his desire, and there was no one he listened to. He was ruled by his madness for his creations, by anger, by hatred towards Melkor and the darkness. It was only the unfortunate doings of Fate that I resembled Melkor the most, therefore, Fëanor chose me as his lover."

Thranduil's gasp was audible in the tent, and, even from the corner of his eye Azadeth could see his widened eyes and bewildered face. He said nothing, though, and the warrior continued.

"As you can already guess, this... relationship, if I can even call it one, wasn't ruled by affection or love."

  
_It hurt. The scars, the bruises, the marks of the hits, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth... They all hurt. He was stretched and torn to the point he was crying, yet, Fëanor never cared to notice. He didn't even care. He continued, then, pressing a bruising kiss on his trembling lips, he left Azadeth curled up on his side, with his bruised back to the door._

_The sons came in, and Fëanor took his gown. The twins laughed quietly._

_"Did we interrupt you, father?" Celegorm asked. Azadeth felt the scornful look on himself, but he didn't move. At least not by his own will._

_"I am already done with him," came the answer. The twins giggled again, louder this time. Azadeth caught the word 'whore' coming from one of them, and the insult hit him like a strong hand. He didn't have to use his imagination. "Any news?"_

_Their steps grew distant, then, a lot of them retreated to the far end of the room. Azadeth didn't want to hear them, yet, one approached instead of walking away. The broken figure raised his head, afraid of what he might see, but then, he was met with an ocean coloured gaze, and the look alone warmed his cold limbs._

_And then, Maglor gave him a small smile._

  
Azadeth turned to look at Thranduil, and finding shock being written all over the prince's expression, the warrior smiled at him sadly.

"Why didn't you fight?" the prince asked, his voice barely a whisper against Azadeth's skin. The older elf slightly trembled, giving a shrug as an answer.

"For what?" Azadeth muttered weakly. The ghost of a smile was still on his face, and his glance unwillingly dropped to Thranduil's lips for a split second. "He was my king. Had I disobeyed, he could have hurt my family. Do not think I would have been worried about myself even for a second, after all the things he had done to me."

"Why didn't you run away, then?" Thranduil pushed further. "You could've taken your whole family with you."

The warrior slowly tore his gaze from the prince, turning to fix his eyes at the ceiling of the tent again. He didn't want to say how many times he thought of the possibility, how many times he grew as desperate as to even plan his escape and leave all the suffering behind. He didn't want to tell Thranduil why he changed his mind from time to time, all over again.

He didn't have to say, because the prince figured out nonetheless.

"You loved him," he whispered, his voice laced with utter awe. "You loved him and you couldn't leave him."

Azadeth caught himself smiling, a gesture barely visible, then he pressed his lips firmly together.

"There wasn't always blood and pain."

  
_"Are you asleep?"_

_Fëanor's voice was soft and quiet, and Azadeth stirred. He wasn't sleeping, but the waves of pleasant exhaustion sometimes pushed him over the edge. He lost contact with reality those times, dreaming with eyes open, admiring the beauty of the stars in his mind. Now he was back in the bed, his back pressed against his king's broad chest, their hair tangled on the battalion of pillows around them. The pulsation of Fëanor's heart melted together with his own, the hot breath of the warrior sending shivers down Azadeth's spine._

_"Talk to me, Fëanáro," Azadeth whispered, entwining his fingers with the ones resting on his stomach. Fëanor let him, pressing his face against the back of Azadeth's neck. Azadeth trembled ever so slightly._

_"I am returning to Tirion tomorrow," Fëanor murmured, the gentleness he uttered the words with so unusual for Azadeth that he felt his stomach turning behind his belly. It wasn't sickening, only and truly pleasant. "Will you take the oath and follow me?"_

_Azadeth was silent for a few moments, digesting the words before he slowly turned in Fëanor's arms and looked at him with eyes unreadable. Fëanor gave him a reassuring, small smile before he placed his hand on Azadeth's cheek, brushing away a stray lock of hair that managed to tangle with his lover's eyelashes._

_"What do you say?"_

  
And Azadeth went. He followed him to Tirion, he took the oath, he betrayed the Valar and he went, without thinking about the consequences even once. He would have followed him even to the end of the world.

There was only one place where he didn't. Death.

"He was wounded mortally by the Balrogs, then, he perished in the flames of his own spirit on the slopes of Ered Wethrin," Azadeth said quietly. He turned his head again to look at Thranduil. "I was running ever since."

Thranduil blinked, his expression completely unreadable - Azadeth could tell even in the complete darkness.

"From what?"

The warrior hesitated for a moment before he mirrored Thranduil's position, turning onto his side with his whole body. Their knees were touching, but the prince never moved even an inch farther.

"From the memories, I assume. The feelings," Azadeth mused and, the longer he was facing the blond elf, the more he felt the urge inside his chest to act something. He forced himself to keep his eyes on Thranduil's, though, but he knew not how much longer he could endure. "It was a long run."

"Perhaps you should stop, then," Thranduil gave him the faintest smile, only visible in his eyes. It was more honest than any other he had ever shown. "It is never too late to say no."

Then, Thranduil took a deep breath, his eyelids falling closed as he laid his head on his hands, using them as a pillow.

Azadeth watched intently, a strange feeling filling him on the inside. It had never happened before, feeling so restless next to Thranduil, yet, he couldn't shake it off now. He couldn't find the strength to lie down properly and rest, or even to rip his eyes from those lips that parted ever so slightly whenever Thranduil was breathing. This strange elf, dreaming with his eyes closed completely drove him mad and, before he could've stopped himself, Azadeth was already leaning closer.

Only their noses brushed against each other, when Thranduil spoke.

"Sleep."

His eyes only opened afterwards, two pairs of ocean gazes sinking in each other from impossibly close. None of them moved farther, and none of them breathed. Even Azadeth's lungs were burning from the shame he felt, but he only lay down on his back when Thranduil closed his eyes again, his posture still not easing, though. Azadeth couldn't see it, however, for he soon turned his head in the opposite direction, too busy to calm his raging heartbeat and the disappointment that followed closely behind.

Had Thranduil let him in that moment, Azadeth knew he would've lost himself to the desire and it could've ended badly. This way, even though Thranduil was gone by dawn and Azadeth hadn't seen him all day, the prince returned at night and lured him up on a tree, intending to tell him the tale of the shining triangle of the sky, called the Gîlnelthil. The blond elf never once mentioned what happened the night before and, on the top of that tree, Azadeth thought it was for the best. He didn't lose the other, and he would marry once he arrived in Greenwood anyway.

Azadeth had no place in this story anymore, but he ignored the bitterness he felt once the realisation hit him and smiled instead, sitting back on the branch he rose from. Thranduil followed him, placing himself not too far, yet, in a safe distance.

"I'm going to miss Rivendell," Thranduil murmured.

"Me too," Azadeth answered, and one look at the prince was enough to tell the truth, what they truly meant.

They weren't going to miss Rivendell. They were going to miss these nights. More than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soon. Soooooooon.


	10. The Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to bring the next chapter before the premiere, and I managed to do it. I'm not exactly sure when the next one is going to be uploaded, but I will work on it.
> 
> Thank you so much for your amazing reviews, your support really warms my heart. I hope you will like this chapter as well! : )

The fog was thick once they left the Misty Mountains behind. The greenery was wrapped in a layer of grey mist, and useless it seemed to look for the end of the trees. The leafage was lost in the skies, and every single drop of eventual rain was echoing through the valley. It was a hollow place to be, and the elves knew it wouldn't have been wise to camp anywhere now, even though twilight was closing in already. No one was talking, and Thranduil sighed deeply.

He had his eyes on Aerithil, riding in the front with only a few soldiers before her. She was glowing in the dimness all around her, but so was the warrior who followed not too closely after her. Thranduil eyed him more, waiting for a moment the other would look back at him and they could grin at each other. They had done it countless times in the past day while they were crossing the Mountains, but, ever since they left the narrow, dangerous roads, Azadeth paid less and less attention to the prince. Thranduil did not understand, but he kept watching, persistently, waiting.

Thranduil didn't exactly long for home. Lindon meant the home for him for such a long time now that he felt like trespassing somewhere he wasn't meant to be. These were going to be his lands one day, his kingdom, and he knew he should've felt awful for not yearning after it more. Yet, all he felt when he even just thought about the future was the knot in his stomach and the tension in his chest, spreading wider and wider, poisoning him with every heartbeat as it got farther in his bloodstream. He knew not what would await him in his father's halls, what would be his mother's words as she told Oropher about his mistakes. Would Oropher be ashamed to have such a child? Would he stop calling Thranduil his son, locking him up in his room until he was mature enough to think about ruling a kingdom? Or would he say they should forget it and never talk about it ever again? Thranduil had to realise he didn't know his father well enough to fathom him, and it was an even scarier thought than the image of himself sitting on a throne with a crown on his head.

The air was dewy and cold around him, and a drop of rain on his face woke him from his thoughts. Azadeth wasn't looking back for an unusually long time now, and it was bugging the prince but he did nothing. The warrior was seemingly lost in his thoughts as well, his posture almost completely motionless, and Thranduil soon caught himself smiling a little as he was eyeing the black haired elf.

He had no doubt Azadeth would follow them right into Greenwood - probably that is why he grew so bewildered so swiftly once he realised Galadriel wasn't going to come with them. Thranduil felt utterly foolish for not thinking about it sooner, after all, Galadriel wasn't meant to come all the way with them to Oropher's kingdom. Lórien was calling her home, and, once the pieces fell into place in Thranduil's mind, that was when the first wave of despair washed over him.

Because if Galadriel was about to leave, then the same was true for Azadeth as well.

Both as a friend and as a prince his duty required him to say goodbye properly, but all he was able to think about was whether Azadeth was already with the other members of Galadriel's escort or not. It was a stupid thought, worrying about something like this while there were much more serious things to be concerned about instead, but Thranduil couldn't help himself. It seemed he wasn't too lucky in hiding it either, for one moment was enough for the Lady of Lórien to see through him, and Thranduil's cheeks were burning up.

"Not once had I seen you this disappointed whenever I was about to leave," Galadriel approached him slowly, a thin white robe resting on her arms as she took the stairs to the front of the palace. She was elegant and radiating majesty, and it was most likely the first time Thranduil had seen her shoulders uncovered. It was strange to see her like that, but he was too restless to make a remark. "I almost feel offended, mellon nín."

The smile gave her false resentment away, but Thranduil was too busy fixing his eyes on the concrete to see it.

"Why else would I be disappointed if not for our paths parting?" he asked, trying his best to sound honest and he looked up from behind his long lashes, blinking at his friend innocently. He was indeed disappointed every time they had to go seperate ways, especially when Galadriel and Celeborn decided to leave Lindon for good. Those times were most likely the hardest for the prince, but he eventually grew up and learnt to deal with it.

Galadriel knew the truth as well, and Thranduil wasn't that stupid to not see it. The Lady's smile was widening with every step she took, then, she stopped right in front of Thranduil and tilted her head ever so slightly.

"My dear fool, you cannot deceive me with sweet talk such as this," she said, and Thranduil's cheeks were heating up even more than so far. "I allowed him to stay and make errands for you if you wish."

Thranduil snapped up his head immediately, eyes wide with wonder.

"You allowed him?"

"He asked for my permission to stay with you."

And Thranduil knew he was dangerously overreacting when he felt himself getting dizzy with happiness, but it was irreversible. He still remembered what he felt after waking up in that cave where the orcs chained him, he still remembered how he wanted to leave Azadeth to die by the side of his mother. He wasn't just angry or betrayed, but he felt so much disappointment that, for a second, he thought it wasn't any different from hatred. He might've taken care of him later, properly healing his injured thigh and making that grave for his mother, but it took him long weeks until he could start missing him for the first time. And, if not missing him, but most certainly missing that version of himself that Thranduil could be whenever Azadeth was next to him.

That alone was worth giving him another chance. And Azadeth didn't betray him again.

Now, as Thranduil was sitting on his horse, his face wet from rain and his mind filled with memories, he was smiling. He was smiling because, even if only for a short while, he could say he was happy again.

The smile, however, fainted in the moment when an arrow whizzed by his ear and Azadeth jumped from his horse, right before the arrow could've hit the Queen. Everything was moving in slow motion in Thranduil's mind when they both fell to the ground, and the horses started whinnying immediately.

Then, orcs came pouring out of the woods, and Thranduil returned to reality.

He was out of his saddle before he could've caught up with himself and, through soldiers and orcs, he ran to his mother's side. Aerithil was being taken into safety already by several members of her escort, but she tried to stay, to deny them. She reached out, barely grabbing her son's hand before they were separated and she was led away. Thranduil knew she would be protected and, for several moments, he was staring after her before remembering the other person lying in the mud.

And that other person was bleeding heavily, way too much for Thranduil's liking.

"Azadeth," the prince held the warrior by his shoulder, rolling the black haired elf onto his back. Azadeth moaned painfully, his fingers soaking in scarlet as he tried to stop the bleeding with his bare hand. "Gods..."

"The arrow," Azadeth muttered, his face convulsed with pain. Thranduil couldn't take his eyes off the injury for more than a glance at the warrior, though, then he was staring at it again, not even realising that a lump was gradually growing in his throat. "It's poisoned. You have- You have to pull it out."

Thranduil's hand was frozen halfway over to the arrow, his fingers shaking violently. He had never felt so desperate in his entire life before, nor had ever blood disgusted him this much. Now, however, he felt dangerously close to fainting, and the presence of death all around him wasn't helping him either.

Azadeth grabbed his wrist so suddenly that Thranduil snapped his head up, jerking in his whole body from shock. Ice cold, wet fingers curled around his hand and crystalline eyes were pleading to him without words.

"I-" Thranduil stuttered. He felt like time was running out, like everything depended on whether he could deal with the situation in that very moment or not, and, if it meant anything, it most certainly didn't mean it was the right time to give up. He shortly cleared his throat, kneeling closer to Azadeth and grabbing the arrow firmly. Both of them ignored how his fingers were still shaking, and they kept the eye-contact without breaking it even with a blink. "I am going to pull it out on three."

Azadeth swallowed hard, nodding as convincingly as he could. Thranduil took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a split second before uttering the first word.

"One-"

Then, he pulled as quickly as he could. Azadeth bit back a scream, surely drawing blood from his lower lip as he bit on it, his eyes closing shut tightly as he threw his head back. Thranduil dropped the arrow to the ground, covering the open wound with his palm as he pulled Azadeth up to sitting position, his heart beating in his throat heavily.

"Where did you learn that?" Azadeth breathed heavily, his eyes still closed as he let his head fall against Thranduil's shoulder. Thranduil looked at the wound for a second, but the sight of the still dangerously heavy bleeding made his stomach turn.

"You have to stay with me, you hear me? Open your eyes," Thranduil ordered, trying to not sound too afraid but he doubted he succeeded even a little. Azadeth's eyes opened slowly, and Thranduil could immediately tell that the poison was already in work. His eyes lost their colour, they were sparkling with fever and he must've been only a thread away from losing consciousness.

He had to get him out of here. And he had to find help, as soon as possible.

"You should go and fight," Azadeth muttered weakly. He didn't protest when Thranduil helped him up from the ground, still holding his almost completely limp body and leading him to the prince's horse. The blond elf then pushed him onto the horse and Azadeth groaned with pain, letting Thranduil push his hand against the wound on his stomach. "Did you know that you tend to stand by and stare when there are people fighting around you?"

"Press the wound as hard as you can, or you will bleed out," Thranduil cut him off, not even paying attention to what Azadeth was saying. It was the fever speaking from him anyway, and he didn't have time to deal with that too. "I will be back, just try to stay awake."

He was gone before Azadeth could've blinked, pulling out his sword roughly and arriving just in time to save one of his men. There was more adrenaline in Thranduil's body than blood, and he was slashing through the orcs with such strength and ferocity that many of his own kin just stayed back or started to chase the orcs that were already on the run. The monsters managed to set fire to the wagon that contained all the food they were given by the Lord Elrond, but the nature aided the elves and the rain put out most of the flames before everything could've been lost.

Thranduil didn't have to fight for too long, given that the orcs were outnumbered against the elves' bows and blades. These were only orc scouts, but even their small numbers didn't give reason to be joyous. For, if the forces of Sauron reached as far as the East-West Road, they were in serious trouble.

The whole of Middle-earth was.

Once he pulled his sword out of the last orc that dared come up against him, Thranduil turned around with the swiftness of lightning. He didn't even bother wiping his blade before he pushed it back into its scabbard, his hand trembling as he laid his eyes upon the shaking, sweating form of Azadeth on Alagos' back. The closer Thranduil got the more clearly he could see dark crimson blood pouring down between Azadeth's fingers, his press against the wound weak and barely even there.

At least, he was still breathing. And that was something Thranduil was grateful for.

"Thranduil," Azadeth murmured weakly once he realised that the prince was by his side again, cupping his face with one hand while pressing his other against the wound. Even while being halfway to completely losing consciousness, he thought it was only a hallucination to see those golden blue eyes filling up with tears, the blond elf leaning impossibly close and yet, staying so far from him. He could've sworn someone was crying out for a healer, but everything was so slow and blurry, as if it had never even happened at all.

"Stay with me," the prince whispered then, and Azadeth closed his eyes. The pain felt distant, but so did everything else. Like it was only him, all alone against this emptiness.

"I am awake," the warrior murmured, leaning into Thranduil's palm. He didn't feel like losing this touch, not now and not ever. Would it have been up to him, he would have kept it for the rest of his life, this one touch enough to put a smile on his lips. He heard another cry, urging for help, but Thranduil felt even closer, and Azadeth's arm went limp, hanging against the horse's side.

He heard Thranduil saying his name one more time before the world went silent around him for good, and Azadeth slipped into merciful unconsciousness, the darkness luring him until he could no longer resist.

  
Washing off blood was the worst part of taking part in a fight. Washing off the blood of someone you loved was even harder.

Thranduil thought that blood was harder to wash off the more you loved someone. The black, putrid smelling orc blood was the easiest to remove - it didn't leave stains on the clothes and, once you washed it off, the smell disappeared as well.

It wasn't the same with the blood of elves, though.

It was dark scarlet, thick and smelling like iron, staying in one's nose for days after spilling it. The clothes preserved it, and so did the skin. If you didn't wash hard enough, it would leave a dim shade of red on your skin, reminding you for a long time that, what happened, happened. It didn't matter whether you were already feeling sick to your stomach because of constantly being reminded, no. It was there, whether you wanted it or not, and so were the haunting memories.

Thranduil was sitting in his tent, staring at his hands with a face completely unreadable. The blood wasn't there, but he could've sworn he still saw it, dripping from his fingertips, dwelling up in his palms and drying on his skin like gloves. Had it been his own blood, he wouldn't have cared. But knowing that it was Azadeth's, remembering the weak pulsating of his heart when Thranduil checked if he was still alive... He now truly understood what it felt like to be haunted. Memories, nightmares... They were all the same.

They brought pain and fear. Doesn't matter they were in the past already.

"My Prince."

The guard from in front of the tent entered and Thranduil looked up, his eyes narrowed.

"I told you not to-"

"The Queen wishes to see you, My Lord," the guard interrupted softly and the prince breathed out.

"And tell him I won't take no as an answer," came Aerithil's voice from outside and, on any other day, Thranduil would've laughed. Now, though, all he allowed himself was a sympathetic look towards the guard, for the young elf seemed truly torn between two orders, then, the prince nodded. A moment later his mother was standing at the same spot, her expression downright hurt and her robes pulled around her tightly.

She seemed upset, but, then again, so did Thranduil.

"For how much longer do you wish to punish me, iôn nín?" Aerithil raised her chin slightly, looking down at her son with cold eyes. He was still sitting by the table they set up for him, his arms now resting on his thighs as he was staring at the ground intently.

"As long as it's necessary."

Thranduil could feel his mother's frustration, almost palpable in the air, but he didn't move an inch, keeping his eyes fixed on the same spot.

"You are not willing to leave your tent and speak to your people, including your mother, because I don't allow you to see that warrior?" she asked, a slight layer of disbelief ringing out from her voice. Thranduil felt his lips curving up slightly, but it was an empty smile, one addressed more to the situation than to his mother. "He shouldn't even be here."

"Because he should've listened to you and run before you give him over to father?" Thranduil looked up, brows raised with false curiosity. "You wouldn't be alive, then, mother."

The sort of anger flashed in her eyes that Thranduil had seen only exceptionally rarely before, and he would've lied had he said it didn't scare him for a second. He was more collected than that, though, and he held Aerithil's gaze without blinking even once after he managed to regain his composure.

"I only offered him a way out," she answered, her voice low. Thranduil knew she was really close to snapping and a part of him wanted to push her over the edge, to hear what she really had to say, but he also knew that there was a very thin line between what was still acceptable and what he was allowed to say. Being too bold might've resulted in even the complete opposite of what he wanted to achieve, and he didn't know if he was willing to take that risk. "He didn't take it, and don't ask me to lie to your father."

The prince rose from his chair slowly and, all of a sudden, his mother seemed way smaller than ever before. She was still the strong-willed mother as so far, yet, Thranduil was anything but the same as who he was even a year ago. He finally knew what he wanted, decided next to not letting one more chance slip away, and nothing was going to stop him.

Not even his mother.

"Give me five minutes with him," he said, breaking the tensed silence and earning a shocked look from Aerithil immediately. "Just five minutes, and I won't ever talk to him again."

There was the flash again, with the only difference that it stayed this time, and the Queen stepped closer. Thranduil bowed his head, already readying himself for what he was going to hear.

"Don't you understand?" Aerithil asked, disbelief and something like the mix of disappointment and anger dripping from her voice. "He persuaded you to run away with him, to abandon your duties, and you are expecting me to let you speak to him for even a minute?"

She let out a choked breath, and only the simple look on her face planted a knot in Thranduil's stomach. He managed to push her over the edge, after all.

"You thought that, just because Galadriel thinks he means no harm, you could fool me? I am older than the three of you together, and I can tell when someone wants to fill my son's head with nonsense about freedom and free choices! You are a prince, Thranduil," she continued, her voice slightly rising with every word. Thranduil didn't even realise he wasn't breathing anymore. "You are the Prince of the Woodland Realm and the world expects you to act like that!"

"No one asked for my blessings, mother!" Thranduil raised his head, the words pouring out of his mouth before he could've thought about it twice. "When did father ever ask me if I wanted this? I have never wanted this, and I know you haven't either!"

Aerithil fell silent for a few moments after that, her fiery eyes fixed on her son as she approached him even more. Her movements were slow and severe, and, all of a sudden, Thranduil felt more agonized than ever before.

"After all that he had done for us, that he had built a kingdom from nothing and gave you a place to call home, the least you can do is to feel grateful," she uttered the words wryly, her face stoic and her eyes on fire. "What you feel now for this warrior, is not real, Thranduil. You will have a wife one day, and you will have children - then, you will understand it."

The prince stayed unmoving for long seconds, biting on his tongue in order to keep himself silent. He felt so much pent up anger inside his chest that it wanted to burst him from within, and, for the first time, the mere thought of his mother felt like a cold hand squeezing his heart until there was only ash and dust left. He had never felt anything like this in his long years so far and, before he could've pushed himself deeper in this misery, he looked up at Aerithil. His feelings must've been written all over his face, for the Queen's expression changed, and Thranduil could recognise the fear in her eyes almost immediately.

He only uttered the first words that came into his mind.

"Then I don't want to understand."

Thranduil rushed out of the tent so swiftly that only the cold air against his skin made him realise what he had actually done. The rapid beating of his heart didn't slow down, not even when he was already far away from his own tent. No one stopped him, no one talked to him, and he walked aimlessly, even though he was sure his legs could take him only to one place.

A tent, seperated from the others. A tent wrapped in darkness on the outside, a tent that was only lit up from the inside, just with a few candles. A tent that was now unguarded, as if it was waiting for Thranduil to enter.

And, after standing at the entrance for a few seconds, he did.

Even though the night was cold, the moment he entered the tent warmth spread through Thranduil's whole body. His hands were shaking again, he could tell just by hanging his arms next to his sides limply. There was no one inside besides him and the motionless figure lying on a cot, his hair spread on the pillow under his head, his chest naked in the candlelight. He was bandaged up around his waist, the white material partly soaked in red where the wound was deeper, and Thranduil swallowed hard.

It was still a sight he would've rather not seen. Yet, the figure might've been motionless, but he was breathing, and that was something that filled the prince with slight relief.

He had no idea what to do from that point on. He couldn't tell whether the warrior was awake or asleep, whether he was conscious or not, strong enough for visitors or not. He stood in the middle of the tent, not knowing what to do with himself, and he was so lost in his thoughts that he felt downright stupid when Azadeth suddenly turned his head towards him and the prince jumped. His cheeks were burning up immediately, but the smile he was given by the warrior was already worth being scared for.

"How did you get in here?" he asked weakly, his voice rough from not using ot for so long. Thranduil would've wanted to answer, hadn't his heart been beating in his throat too frantically to speak, so he just put his weight on one leg, then on another. He was trying so hard to keep himself from doing something, probably, very foolish, but the temptation only grew stronger with every passing second.

He knew it wouldn't end the way he intended. He just knew.

"I thought your mother wouldn't allow you in here," Azadeth continued, attempting to move on the cot but, once he remembered the pain that forced him to that bed in the first place, he stopped trying. He was staring at the ceiling for a while but he soon turned back to Thranduil, waiting for some kind of answer.

And Thranduil tried, he truly did. He even fisted his fingers until the point they almost broke, but it didn't work. For a short moment he thought of walking out of the tent, pretending the whole thing hadn't happened and, for an even shorter second, he thought his mother was right. That this whole thing was just a mirage, something that he wanted to see but wasn't there, but it was too painful to think about.

This feeling was too real. The temptation, the feelings that've been driving him crazy were too real. For him, this was much more than a simple affair or an obsession. For hundreds of years, it was. But now, after all the things they've been through, he would've been a fool to not make it sure whether it had a future or not.

Instead of answering, he firmly walked over to Azadeth, then fell to his knees by his side and pressed his lips against the warrior's with all the desperation he was holding back for hours now.

And gods, was it worth it.

Heat spread over the prince, even though the warrior was obviously too surprised to reciprocate the kiss. By the time Azadeth would've been able to realise what was happening and could've closed his eyes, Thranduil was already pulling away slightly, still staying close enough for Azadeth to feel the blond elf's hot breath against his skin. For a moment, the older elf toyed with the idea that it was only a vivid dream, thanks to the fever heat that was torturing his body during the whole night, but the sight of Thranduil's face with closed eyes and still parted lips was most certainly real.

And Azadeth was so happy like he had never felt before in his entire life.

The prince was still holding Azadeth's face with an expression saying a thousand words, and Azadeth soon found himself smiling, raising his hand to Thranduil's face.

"I am so sorry," the blond elf whispered, talking for the first time ever since he entered the tent. His voice was barely audible in the small space between them, but Azadeth heard every word crystal clearly. "I was so stupid, Azadeth. I was stupid and I almost lost you."

Azadeth smiled softly, brushing his thumb against Thranduil's cheekbone lightly.

"Hey. Look at me."

For the gentle order, Thranduil tentatively opened his eyes, only for his heart to jump right into his throat from the sight of that fond smile that he had never seen before on the warrior's face. And it rendered him completely breathless, his mind completely blank.

"I would like you to try it again," Azadeth asked quietly, his thumb following the line of Thranduil's jaw until he could delicately reach under his chin and pull him closer.

And now, he wasn't caught off-guard.

His lips immediately opened under Thranduil's, and his fingers slid back into the prince's hair, holding him in one place. He remembered their first kiss in the woods on that day a hundred years ago, but that one was nothing like this. Back then, it was ruled by lust and desire, but this one, it was ruled by something absolutely different. Their lips moved against each other in perfect sync, and, the moment Azadeth's tongue slipped into Thranduil's mouth, the prince let out a small whimper that made Azadeth smile into the kiss. He could've imagined nothing better than this, and, by the way Thranduil was holding onto him, the warrior guessed it was the same the other way around as well.

It was a shame he almost had to die to finally realise that.

  
The Sun was already finishing its route on the sky by the time the gates of Oropher's Halls opened. The Queen of the Woodland Realm was the first to enter, then her son, and only then the rest of her people, tired and wearied after the long journey. They cared not anymore, though - finally, they were at home. They all felt the same way, except one of them. But, despite his feelings, even the prince sat straight on his horse, his face serious and stoic as he was enveloped in the orange lights of the hall they arrived in.

The first person Thranduil recognised amongst so many strange faces was Durion Malthaldar, main counsel of the king. The prince watched with veiled disdain as the elf with his characteristic, cunning smile helped Aerithil down from the saddle, pressing a kiss on the top of her hand soon afterwards. Thranduil didn't hear what they were talking about, but their smiles gave away the fondness they felt for each other - even though the blond elf was fairly sure that honesty was coming from only his mother's side.

He dismounted with a deep sigh, putting on the mask of the responsible and ambitious prince, then, he let Durion approach him with a smile very different from what he had been showing to Aerithil a moment before. The counsel wasn't a fool, and Thranduil was well aware that he knew of the dislike the prince felt towards him.

Not like Thranduil wanted to hide it for even a moment.

"My Prince," Durion bowed deeply, his hand only lingering above his heart as he was stealing glances from behind his lashes. "Welcome home. I hope you find joy returning after so long."

Thranduil really wanted to agree, to say that it was indeed a good feeling to be in Greenwood again. The palace didn't change much ever since he left, about a hundred years ago, yet, it felt repulsive and strange. He was missing the snow white walls of Lindon, the smooth, marble floor and the spacious, bright halls. It all felt wrong, standing in the dim lights and acting so differently from who he knew he was in real life, yet, it wasn't like he had any other choice.

He either acted, or dealt with the consequences for the umpteenth time. And, frankly, he was too tired of the latter to endure it any longer.

"It is refreshing indeed," Thranduil answered at last, avoiding Durion's eyes while he unbuckled his bag from the side of Alagos. "When does my father wish to see me?"

"He told me to tell you he would look for you on the evening," Durion straightened, clasping his hands before his chest with a small smile. "He would like you to refresh yourself for the feast tonight."

Thranduil looked at him with brows creased, his surprise written all over his face.

"Feast?" He was already about to throw his bag over his shoulder but he soon realised that all those servants weren't standing around him to admire him. He reluctantly gave his bag over to them, and they immediately hurried away, leading his horse to the stables as well. "I would rather rest this evening. The journey exhausted me."

Thranduil stepped aside to walk past the counsel, but he immediately joined the prince, and the blond elf suddenly found it really hard to hide his annoyance.

"If I may note, My Prince, I do think it would be unwise to miss the feast tonight," Durion said firmly, obviously ignoring how rudely he was behaving. Thranduil took a deep breath, looking down at him with as much exhaustion as he could muster up.

"I have been away for a century, Durion," he started, raising his hand to massage his temple and somewhat ease his frustration. "I believe anything that could wait that long could be delayed one more day, couldn't it?"

After giving the counsel an empty smile, Thranduil walked away swiftly. The farther he got, the more relieved he felt, and his real smile finally found a way to break through his mask. Now, he was finally allowed to think of all the things he wasn't supposed to think of so far. Most of all, one person particularly.

And that person was watching him without Thranduil knowing. Every single time.

  
The trees stood like columns as Azadeth walked the endless labyrinths of Oropher's halls. Green leaves were scattered across the floor as the outside winds of the upcoming autumn harvested what it must, and the warrior often felt some of them crunching under his weight. Young elflings kicked into the piles, played with the dry leaves and then laughed, and Azadeth watched with care. These peoples were utterly different from everything he had ever seen.

And he thought he had already seen everything. How foolish he was.

Many were enjoying a feast around the tables, and the usually melancholic sounds of Gil-galad's gatherings were absent on that evening. It was a more cheerful song that the elves played, and Azadeth often heard them singing and dancing along as the music got gradually louder. Somehow, his first thought brought him to the memory of Maglor, the image of Fëanor's youngest son playing his harp in the same fashion. Azadeth had often watched him and his brothers fooling around to songs, making fun of dwarves and, every now and then, each other. The twins would dance, the rest would sing, Maglor would play the melody - and Maedhros would just sit somewhere on the sidelines, right at his father's side. They were young and unbothered by the darkness raging around them.

Then it was all gone. They scattered like the leaves on the floor, and not even Maglor could hold them together for any longer.

Azadeth stood in the shadow of a tree, eyeing the crowd in front of him. These were strange people, not caring about the war banging on their doors. It seemed as if they were sure loud music and laughter would scare the ghosts away. But running away from problems only very rarely meant leaving them behind for good.

The only person who seemed to be truly bothered despite all the merrymaking that was done around him was the King himself, Oropher the Great. He sat tall on his chair, his food untouched on the table before him, only a cup of wine resting between his fingers. Many were sitting at the same table, but he made sure he wouldn't be only one of them. He wore an antlered crown, silken robes of great value and jewellery that even the dwarves would look upon with envy. Azadeth could not unsee his resemblance with his son, Thranduil undoubtedly inheriting the azure eyes, golden locks and chiselled features from his father, but the prince was softer than this. The warrior actually shuddered as he imagined Thranduil sitting on that throne in the same fashion, and he dismissed the thought immediately.

No wonder Thranduil tried to escape this life so badly.

He was eyeing the King so intently he had no chance to notice the girl appearing behind him. Only the quiet sound of robes sliding against each other woke Azadeth from his thoughts as he snapped his head to the side, just to meet a very strange, lavender coloured pair of eyes. It was a gentle face, but its owner was very unusual. She was obviously a young, graceful elvish girl, yet, she was leaning against the same tree trunk as Azadeth, her arms folded in front of her chest lightly.

It was a sight Azadeth hadn't seen every day, and he couldn't help his eyebrows rising as he took her in. She seemed so familiar, yet, the warrior had not the slightest idea why.

"Can I help you?" Azadeth broke the silence that was growing more and more uncomfortable with every second, but the girl just held her expression straight and started smiling delicately. There was something knowing in her eyes, in the way her lips curled up ever so slightly, and it annoyed Azadeth somewhere deep inside him where he couldn't quite reach.

"I am only admiring you," the blond elf shrugged lightly, tilting her head a little. Azadeth narrowed his eyes, but stayed silent. "The hero, they call you."

"They who?"

"Everyone."

Azadeth would've liked to laugh if he hadn't found the girl's words downright accusing, so all he allowed himself was a short huff of breath. She seemed awfully confident in what she was saying and who she was talking to, but the warrior was absolutely certain that she mistook him for someone. It was the only reasonable explanation.

"Jokes aside now, my lady," Azadeth folded his arms in front of his chest. "You look very familiar to me. Had I been so lucky to encounter you before, I would most likely remember that, yet, I am without a clue here."

The girl chuckled, her whole face lighting up before she pressed her lips together and tilted her head again. It seemed to be her characteristic.

"Don't try to back out, Azadeth," she sighed deeply, letting her arms fall by her sides. The unexpected call made him even more surprised and his lips parted in awe. He was really curious where she knew him from by now, but he couldn't utter a single word. "It is not a shame to save the queen."

"How- Who are you?" Azadeth regained his composure at last, the cunning look in those lavender eyes driving him absolutely mad. She apparently knew more about him than the other way around, and it always managed to annoy him.

She wanted to answer. Azadeth could tell she did, yet, she didn't have the chance. The music slowly died down, the murmur of the crowd ceased and, as Azadeth turned his head to look behind him over his shoulder, Oropher was rising from his seat, placing his wine glass on the table.

By the time Azadeth turned back, the girl was gone. And the warrior was cursing himself as he leant his back against the tree once again, mostly for not asking sooner, not pushing harder. Now this quiet voice was repeating its mantra in the back of his mind, fueling his curiosity and concern. This girl could know things about him that no one else knows. And it wasn't particularly fortunate in a place like this.

"Both ruling and living in such a young kingdom, between such young walls grows a task extremely hard once darkness seems to corrupt everything that is good in our fragile world," Oropher's voice filled the halls, and Azadeth eyed him intently. He talked like he was born to be a king, someone who was required to play with the words in the fashion of a lord, yet, he looked cold and his face held no expression as he spoke. It was different from the way Gil-galad or Galadriel had spoken, and Azadeth wondered whether those rulers or his own father would have the more influence on Thranduil. He couldn't decide just yet. "It is fragile, and even one person is enough to disturb the balance, to bring doom upon us. One's blind rage can force hundreds into exile, one's wrongly invested trust can result in innocent people sinking with the land of darkness.

"Many of us had seen what the wrath of the Valar is capable of, and we will receive no help from the West this time. There is a war coming upon us, and death shall collect its victims, death shall continue to work in the favour of Ilúvatar's plans. Yet, in the midst of this peril and destruction, at the dawn of a new age, I have something to share with you." There was the ghost of a smile on Oropher's lips, something that looked more like an illusion than a real gesture. It only planted a knot on Azadeth's stomach, but it most certainly didn't warm his heart, and he watched the hall's happenings with careful attention. "Thranduil, my son, please stand so everyone could see you."

Azadeth hadn't even noticed that the prince was in the room - he must've arrived while the warrior was talking to that strange girl. The huge form of the blond prince, his delicate, yet, now worried features made Azadeth's heart pound harder in his chest, and he couldn't ignore the tingling in his lips as he remembered the last time they could talk in that tent. That kiss, those whispered words, the gentle touches... Azadeth remembered all of it clearly in that moment, just by looking at Thranduil, now standing by the table, obviously feeling awkward for being in the centre of attention. Azadeth made a mental note to tease him with this later.

"Thranduil is my only son, a son that my beloved presented me with so many years ago," Oropher mused lightly, although, still with the complete lack of even the remnants of decent emotions on his face. Azadeth was happy he never lived to see his father talking about him in such manner. "Now, he is finally at home, his true home, to get to know his people and prepare for his kingship. Prior to this, however, the Queen and I have thought it would be time to secure the future of the kingdom, especially so close to a nearing war."

It was the moment when Thranduil finally tore his glance from the table and looked up at his father, and, even though Azadeth couldn't see his face, he could tell from his posture how tensed he was. Imagining his scared expression wasn't hard after that, and the warrior's stomach turned inside his belly. He knew what Oropher was about to say.

And he remembered Galadriel's words crystal clearly.

_The idea of an arranged marriage might scare him at first, but won't make him run away again, I can promise you that._

It won't make him run away again, because he would have nowhere to run anymore. And it was the most cruel way to clip the wings of a bird that wanted nothing else than to fly away and break out of its cage.

"I am joyous to announce the engagement of Prince Thranduil and the Lady Írwen of Edhellond."

Then, a girl in silky, snow white robes and with long, golden locks emerged from a table, her face holding an unusual smile as she walked closer to the outstretched arm of Oropher. She took his hand gently, then, the king led her to Thranduil and, in the middle of the crowd's happy applause and the music sounding again, the young elves looked at each other.

Azadeth's stomach dropped immediately when he saw the girl's lavender eyes. Then, he turned around and left the room as fast as he could.


	11. Love Takes Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready for some M/M sexual intercourse? I'm finally here to give you that.

There was a loud noise, the slam of a door echoing through the hallways of Greenwood. The leaves on the floor flew in the air, as if a huge gust of wind was sweeping them away - then, it died down and everything fell silent.

Thranduil stormed into his room, stopping only in the middle of his chamber and exhaling. He forgot he wasn't quite breathing for a while now and he filled his lungs with the smell of melting wax, the candles giving the room a soft, orange light. Shadows were playing on the walls, not providing enough light for the prince to see who was standing in one corner. The prince was too busy anyway, too upset, too angry. He spun around, as if he was thinking about walking back, but he abruptly stopped and closed his eyes.

The figure in the darkness stayed unmoving, quiet. He watched carefully, watched as the blond tried to calm himself. Even while angry he was beautiful, radiating majesty so unlikely of a prince. It wasn't a royal majesty like his father's, it was the majesty of simple things, simple feelings, simple dreams. This prince was deprived of everything he had dreamt of, and the black haired elf watched him from the shadows. He wondered whether Thranduil would catch him before he showed himself, but, then again, the blond one was way too busy regaining his composure.

He failed miserably, needless to say, and in the moment he opened his eyes, Azadeth stepped forward.

His step against the marble floor was enough to draw the prince's attention immediately, but, besides moving his head in Azadeth's direction, he didn't change his tensed posture. His gaze was softer than before, but, the longer they stared at each other from this safe distance, the more Thranduil's eyes narrowed. It might've been Azadeth's sad smile that gave him away, looking at his only friend with so much sympathy that even Thranduil would've been a fool not to recognize.

It was the look of guilt. And the prince understood it right away.

"You knew," Thranduil said, his voice laced with disbelief. Azadeth dropped his glance for a second, then looked up back at Thranduil.

He would've liked to tell the prince it was complicated, but there wasn't anything complicated about it. He had heard Galadriel and Gil-galad talk about it earlier while hiding in the Lady's room, just as she advised him to do. He heard them, but he hadn't asked a word about it - it was obvious enough. Thranduil would get married once he arrives home, and not by his free will. He had seen many examples for this during his long life, as it was nothing sort of exceptional, yet, imagining Thranduil with anyone else, especially with someone he had never even met was painful.

After realising that the prince held him dear, it was even more painful.

Hearing those two words on such disdainful tone was placing a stinging knot on Azadeth's stomach but he endured it, holding the other's glance with utmost surety as a small smile was playing on his lips.

"What would you have expected me to do?" Azadeth asked gingerly, his voice barely a murmur. Thranduil snorted, turning to the warrior with his whole body.

"To tell me, perhaps?" Thranduil's voice was at least one octave higher than usual, but Azadeth stood without flinching. "It's not hard, really. 'Thranduil, you are going to be forced into a marriage with some unknown princess, I thought you should know.'"

He had his arms flying around him in the air when he suddenly stopped, his face clearing with something like recognition. Azadeth stepped closer slowly and Thranduil drank his sight in, as if he was trying to make sure he was all well.

"Was it my mother?" the prince asked, a lot more quietly now. Azadeth's smile slightly widened.

"Was your mother what?"

"Persuading you into keeping it from me," Thranduil explained and Azadeth took one more step closer. He saw the emotions in Thranduil's eyes crystal clearly now, and seeing the prince so confused and uncertain was amusing for the warrior for some reason.

"I persuaded myself," Azadeth merely shrugged, clasping his hands behind his back as he approached. He was only a few feet away now, but, had it only been because of the desire to finally get close to Thranduil again, he would've already reached him. His common sense warned him to be patient, though, and he took every step with care, never taking his eyes off of the prince.

"Why?" Thranduil asked, obviously confused, but all the disdain was gone from his face. He looked like a lost elfling now and Azadeth smiled again.

"Put yourself in my place," Azadeth stopped in front of the prince, arms now hanging by his sides. "Your life finally seems to even out, you are happy, not particularly with who you are, more with who you are with. You are with someone, and then that someone, as you learn, is about to be taken from you. What would you do in my place, prince?"

The wonder on Thranduil's face was immediate, and Azadeth watched with the same smile as the prince digested his words. It was as close as the warrior could get to express his feelings, and they both were well aware of it. Azadeth tried to ignore his heart beating in his throat and, the longer the moment stretched, the more emotions he could recognize in Thranduil's eyes. Before he could have added something to lighten the mood, the prince lunged towards him suddenly.

"I would stop calling me prince finally."

Azadeth's eyelids fell closed as soon as he felt those warm lips on his own, coaxing his mouth to finally open. Thranduil buried his fingers in Azadeth's hair, one hand on the back of his neck and another getting tangled in the raven black locks as he pulled him closer and closer. The soft moan that escaped Thranduil as Azadeth led his tongue inside his mouth was a surprise, but, if it resulted anything, it was the warrior deepening the kiss even more. It was a long moment, just the two of them finally experiencing this feeling for the first time since the tent, and it made both of their knees shake without the other knowing. Yet, the second Thranduil tried to pull on the front of Azadeth's shirt, attempting to direct him towards the bed, Azadeth broke the kiss and gasped for air, still holding Thranduil's face with one hand.

The disarrayed, golden locks and the fiery blue eyes were most certainly a sight that made Azadeth doubt his sanity for stopping Thranduil in his attempt. Yet, he dismissed the thought and listened to the remnants of his common sense instead. It would've been a bad idea, letting himself go so easily and so soon, and even the slight disappointment in Thranduil's eyes couldn't convince Azadeth otherwise.

"Before you start crying," Azadeth grinned, pulling Thranduil closer again. The prince tried to resist but the hold of Azadeth on him was too strong - and maybe, just maybe, he didn't even want to resist that hard after all. The warrior pulled him into a chaste kiss, one that eventually made Thranduil wrap his arms around the black elf's neck, placing both of his hands on the back of Azadeth's head, and they stayed like that for long moment, lips lingering above lips, breathing in the same air. Azadeth held him by his waist, his finger drawing soothing circles on the base of the prince's spine and Thranduil smiled, opening his eyes slowly.

"Don't leave tonight," Thranduil whispered, looking deep into Azadeth's eyes. He started smiling more and more widely then, closing his eyelids again and pressing soft kisses at the corners of Azadeth's mouth. "Or tomorrow... Or the day after that."

The warrior was the one to pull him towards the bed this time, trying not to laugh lowly at the prince. Once they fell on the bed and settled next to each other more than on the top of each other, Thranduil propped his head on his elbow, leaving only one hand on Azadeth's arm. It was a safe distance, yet, not too far, and Azadeth could comfortably trifle with the end of Thranduil's locks.

He wasn't planning on leaving that night anyway. And they talked, talked and talked, up to the point where they fell asleep in each other's arms, hours after midnight.

  
"Good morning, Thranduil."

The prince stopped abruptly, as if he was shot by an arrow. The ringing voice of one certain elven girl he missed to notice sounded indeed like an arrow, given how unprepared Thranduil was for this encounter but, then again, he should've guessed it.

It was time for breakfast and Thranduil was just passing outside of the dining hall, hoping he wouldn't get caught by his parents who would force him to eat. The prince told Azadeth he would wait for him at the stables so they could ride out for a while, get lost after all these days of constant disturbance. For some reason everyone was determined to bother Thranduil over the last week, especially his father who was trying to force him into a proper talk with the Lady Írwen, and the prince really felt the need to disappear for a few hours, to spend more time with Azadeth.

Now, this plan seemed to stumble and fall apart right in front of his eyes the longer he was standing there, but he knew he couldn't escape it. Maybe Azadeth would wait for him. Maybe he could get out of this swiftly. He turned around and took a few steps back, entering the dining hall with his hands clasped behind his back.

The Lady was sitting at the end of the long feast table, several kind of food placed in front of her everywhere. She was all alone in the huge room and Thranduil was surprised to find her like this. It was odd from his father to suffer a guest eating alone, especially his son's betrothed, but, the more Thranduil was thinking about it, the less surprised he felt. It wasn't like Oropher cared about his son even the slightest, at least that was how Thranduil felt. Ever since the prince arrived in Greenwood, all Oropher could talk about was either the marriage or the upcoming war, nothing else. Thranduil knew that there was most definitely something strange about his father, that he was holding something back for the sake of peace, but he also knew it wouldn't last long until Oropher would eventually face the prince and tell him the same old song. About how much of a disappointment he was, and all the rest.

It was only a matter of time.

The Lady eyed him as he approached with small steps, waiting for some kind of response, and only her innocent smile reminded Thranduil of his manners.

"Good morning, Lady Írwen."

"Please, I dared to call you by your first name. Unless you preferred that I call you prince, you are free to call me simply Írwen," she smiled, wiping her mouth softly before she drank from her cup. The way she spoke was quite mesmerizing and the tone she used was soft, pleasant for Thranduil to listen to. He had to admit that she had exceptional beauty, but the mere thought of the arranged marriage alone was able to ruin everything for him. He knew he shouldn't have let it take over his mind, but he felt unable to fight it and he let his gaze drop to the floor.

"Fine, 'simply Írwen'," he stopped in his walk and Írwen chuckled, placing her handkerchief on the table next to her. "How do you enjoy your stay here so far?"

She took another bite of her food and Thranduil followed her movements from the corner of his eye. She was so strange with her unusual aura, as if she wasn't even an elf but a race completely different from everything the prince had known so far, and he couldn't find it in himself to take his eyes off her for longer than a few seconds. She breathed out patiently, staring at her plate as if she was eyeing her next bite, then, she simply shrugged. Thranduil's brows rose, and now he was looking at her without any second thought.

"I am with an adventurous soul here, I dare say a friend even," she looked up at Thranduil, her face unreadable but endlessly soft and kind. "I will be honest, I often find my stay dull, but it is already better now that I have company. Would you like to sit, perhaps? Or are you in a hurry?"

Her words completely caught Thranduil off-guard and he wasn't quite sure if he had heard her correctly a moment ago. However, given how innocently she was looking at him, he found himself sitting down next to her without having the chance to think about it. She was smiling with such satisfaction that it made even the prince's lips curl up a little, and the Lady was already offering him from her breakfast. He, of course, refused politely, but she didn't let silence fall on them for too long.

"I felt so terrible that we couldn't talk properly since the announcement of the marriage. It was probably my fault as well, arriving so late," she mused, leaning back on her chair. She seemed to lose interest in her food now that Thranduil didn't eat, but she didn't let him speak. "I had an awful lot to learn about these woods but, needless to say, I am still quite far from being an expert. Your home is really beautiful, though."

"Thank you," Thranduil muttered, seeing the first chance to utter a few words while Írwen was taking a breath between two monologues. It was endearing, seeing her so flushed when she realised she was talking too much, but all Thranduil gave her was a small smile. "I thought you'd arrived way before us."

She smiled with fondness, her head tilted a little to the side as she eyed Thranduil.

"No, I arrived only a day before you. I had to leave home quite in a hurry, hoping that orcs wouldn't waylay me," Írwen laughed quietly, as if it was a joyous matter to talk about. Thranduil had always thought you could either cry or laugh at your misery - obviously, Írwen chose the latter. "I had heard you weren't that lucky."

Thranduil narrowed his eyes slightly while listening, not really understanding what she was talking about.

"Didn't you come with your family?"

"Nah, I came alone. My parents will come only when the wedding takes place," she shook her head, but she couldn't hide the sadness in her eyes. Thranduil watched her carefully, trying to see into her head, but she dropped her glance quickly and took a deep breath. She apparently didn't want him to see too much, and it only made Thranduil more keen on learning the reason behind that disappointment in the azure pair of eyes. "It is all a huge blur in my memories, I do think you can understand why."

They smiled at each other, a private moment between them that filled Thranduil with warmth inside his chest. This girl was nothing like what he thought she would be, and Thranduil could indeed understand her. What is it to leave home so abruptly, to feel like you have people behind your back, yet, you don't. Lindon was home for him now, and leaving it behind for good filled him with longing he had never experienced before.

They were both victims in this situation, in these halls, in these times. And they were both helpless.

"Your parents are the most gracious hosts, Your Highness," Írwen bowed her head slightly. Her locks fell on her breasts, sweeping over her thighs before slipping from the silky robes and hanging in the air limply. She had exceptionally long and beautiful hair, almost as beautiful as Galadriel's, and Thranduil couldn't help but smile a little. "Although, if I may note, I do think your father is a bit reckless when it comes to decisions about the upcoming war."

Thranduil's smile widened even more, to the surprise of Írwen of course. It wasn't a very happy matter, not something that anyone in Greenwood would have liked to discuss hadn't it been of crucial necessity. And no, Thranduil wasn't smiling because of the matter itself.

He was smiling at the truth of Írwen's words.

The prince spent the last week amongst many counsellors and with his father's most trusted allies, including Amdír, King of Lórien. The wise Firstborn and his son, Amroth had arrived several weeks earlier, already learning of Oropher's obsession for the war, yet, they couldn't possibly prepare Thranduil for the seriousness of the situation. Thranduil had to see it with his own eyes as his parents' room was filled with maps, marks and plans everywhere, the troops and the weapons and battle-array already detailed. It was scary, to see that fire rekindle in the eyes of someone that he loved. The last time he had seen it, Thingol soon afterwards died. That fire inside him, the warmth of greed and the Silmarils were heating him way too much to think clearly, and he wasn't listening to anyone, not even to his wife anymore. Imagining Oropher going down the same road, it scared Thranduil to death. He wasn't only fearing for his father's life, but he couldn't stop thinking about his mother's well-being, as well as himself not being ready to rule a kingdom just yet. Had his father died, it wouldn't only be a broken heart leading Thranduil into making possible terrible mistakes. It would be the lack of experience and knowledge, something he was too young for.

Yet, despite all of these things, he was smiling. He was smiling because, for the first time, someone dared to utter these words, someone had seen the trouble and had spoken of it. Anyone else would've stayed silent, thinking it wouldn't be polite or acceptable to judge the King himself, but Írwen knew that it wasn't the time to be polite now. It was time to speak openly of the problems, and Thranduil had already liked her for it.

"I am glad they chose you," Thranduil looked at her straight in the eyes, earning another surprised and confused smile from the Lady. He was smirking, as if she just made him the happiest person on Arda, and even the prince himself couldn't fathom why he was feeling so satisfied. "My parents. The only thing I feel sorry for is that you had to leave your home."

Írwen chuckled lowly, taking a deep breath as she raised her cup to her lips and shrugged gently. Her every movement resembled more to a Man than an Elf, yet, she held the grace of her kin undoubtedly. She was somewhat like Azadeth, and it drew Thranduil closer and closer with every second.

"Home is where the heart is, they say," she sighed, glancing up at Thranduil with a knowing half-smile from behind her lashes. "I know for sure your heart lies within these walls. Only one question remains now: does he know he possesses it completely?"

Thranduil had never felt his cheeks being so hot before, not in his entire life. Írwen's voice wasn't accusing or disdainful, and, if anything, it was even cheekier and more teasing Thranduil had ever heard elves speaking so far. She knew exactly where she was going with this, as well as how to corner Thranduil until he could not move anywhere. She seemed to find pleasure in this, while Thranduil felt like a struggling fawn after getting captured. He was frantically searching for a way out of this, but, before he could've uttered a few weak excuses to save himself, Írwen laughed again.

"No need to worry, no one is going to learn this from me," she poured some water in her glass again, pushing it in front of Thranduil and nodding towards the cup. "Refresh yourself before I tell you everything I know about this Azadeth of yours."

And Thranduil drank out the cup quickly, his eyes widened with shock.

He indeed needed that drink. More than anything.

 

"So, Prince Thranduil, were the woods rich of games today?"

The voice of Amdír woke Thranduil from his thoughts. He glanced up at the elf with the silver locks and stared, as if he wasn't completely sure he was the one Amdír had been talking to. The King looked at him with a curious half-smile, as wide as anyone in his position would've afforded himself to give to others, and Thranduil found himself short of words.

The dinner was dull so far, with little to no tension or entertainment drawing his attention. The topics they were talking about didn't interest the prince and he was longing more for the peace of his room and the warrior inside it than for hearing his father talk about Sauron constantly. No one told him to stop, though, not even Aerithil who was sitting on his left, eating silently. Thranduil kept watching her sometimes, wondering what must've happened to her that changed her so radically, rendering her so speechless in the last weeks. On his right sat Írwen and, in front of them, the Prince and King of Lórien were seated. Both were extremely kind and virtuous, even though Amroth was mostly dreaming while staring into his cup during the evening. Thranduil was sitting in absolute silence for half an hour now, eating without a sound when Amdír addressed him, therefore it was no wonder he had no idea how to answer at first.

As always, his father took this chance to speak instead of him.

"I highly doubt it," he sighed, tracing the mouth of his cup with his finger intently. He had this strange smile on his face that Thranduil didn't quite know where to put, but the prince didn't let his glance roam on his father for too long. He turned back to his plate, looking at the mostly untouched food. "The nature senses the growing darkness. The trees are dry, the animals hide, the flowers stopped blossoming. My kingdom isn't as safe as it was once."

 _And raging a war upon someone who apparently cannot be defeated is going to help it?,_ Thranduil wanted to ask but changed his mind. He would've sounded too bitter, and he wished not to deepen the abyss between him and Oropher. It was deep enough as it was.

"Mordor is near. It cannot be avoided for Greenwood to grow a little darker," Aerithil sipped from her cup, turning to Oropher with her gentle, yet, recently quite unseen expression. Thranduil glanced at her from the corner of his eye, but he still saw that something was most certainly bothering her. It was present only in her eyes, though, and Oropher didn't see it. "I am sure it shall reclaim its glory once the evil is gone from this world for good."

Oropher reached for her hand that rested in her lap so far and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss on the top of it. Aerithil chuckled lightly and Oropher gave her a caring smile, something he was seldom giving to anyone but her. Thranduil wanted to feel touched at the sight, but all it resulted in him was this unsettling feeling, like something wasn't right. For the love of the Valar, he couldn't put his finger on it, so all he could do was to dismiss the thought and drink some more wine. Maybe it would dull the feeling.

"Excuse my intrusion, Your Highness."

The doors opened in such silence that not even the King noticed his own advisor entering the hall. The music went silent in the background and Thranduil looked up, only to barely choke on his wine. For not only Durion stood in the door - that alone would've been nothing sort of unusual. The sight of Azadeth next to him, however, was much more shocking, especially when Oropher arose from his seat with great excitement and motioned towards the empty seat between him and Thranduil, offering it for the warrior.

"Thank you, Durion. Please, Azadeth, come and take a seat at my table."

Thranduil's first self-aware movement led him to look pointedly at his mother. She chose this moment to drink some more, glancing at Thranduil over her cup without any emotion whatsoever. The prince understood nothing but, as it was polite whenever the King stood, he arose from his chair as well. The company of the hall waited patiently while Azadeth sat and, only when Oropher seated himself as well did they follow his example. Thranduil avoided Azadeth's searching and, obviously, satisfied gaze as much as he could and tried to lose himself in the Dorwinion instead, his heart beating rapidly in his throat.

He couldn't believe this was happening to him. It was the last thing he expected from this evening and, when he wished for some tension or excitement, he most certainly wasn't wishing for this. Only the Valar knew what Aerithil must've told Oropher about Azadeth, but, at least, Thranduil could exclude one possibility.

She didn't tell him the truth. And, instead of being happy about it, Thranduil found it hard to feel anything positive about this sudden turn of events.

"My wife is alive right now, thanks to you," Oropher held Aerithil's hand again, smiling at Azadeth like they had always been close allies ever since the awakening of the Elves. And it was such an absurd moment that Thranduil couldn't help his lips part slightly in shock as he stared at his father, his head bowed. Azadeth was apparently enjoying the situation, a bit too much perhaps, but Thranduil was still not strong enough to look at him directly. "I couldn't find a better way to express how thankful I am than to invite you to join our dinner. Who knows, it might be the last time we can sit together in such bliss."

 _I couldn't imagine anything better than this, really,_ Thranduil thought to himself with bitter sarcasm, clearing his throat shortly before taking a bite and forcing it down. _Your optimism is downright touching, father._

"Aerithil had told me about your fortunate decision to join her escort on their way home," Oropher continued, swallowing the bite before speaking. Thranduil was constantly wondering how he could eat and talk at the same time so well, given that he was talking through most of the night, yet, his plate was almost empty. He didn't even want to pay attention to what the older elf was actually saying. "As someone who serves a different leader, what made you save my wife?"

The moment Thranduil felt Azadeth's hand on his thigh he tensed, staring ahead of him, completely frozen. It wasn't a comforting touch, one to ease the tension that was obviously radiating from the prince. Oh no, it was the grand example of teasing, and Thranduil would've liked to frown at the warrior, to snap his hand away, but that would've automatically meant Írwen noticing them.

He would be lucky if only Írwen would've noticed. He was worried the whole company would.

Therefore, he endured. He knew not how long he could continue on like this, though. And gods, was it frustrating.

"Anyone would've done the same, Your Highness," Azadeth answered, his hold on Thranduil's thigh moving upwards towards the prince's crotch. The blond elf's cheeks were burning up and he filled his cup again, drinking the wine as if it was mere water. He tried to escape the touch by gently pulling away his leg but Azadeth wasn't about to let go and, eventually, Thranduil gave up.

He couldn't decide whether he was angry or ready to tear him apart with his bare hands. Probably both.

"I hear you are a remarkable fighter. The Lady Galadriel was generous to lend you to us," Oropher continued, the oblivious smile almost painful to watch for his son. Thranduil wanted to run away more than ever before, yet, he sat on his chair without an inch of a movement. He immediately caught his father's smile dropping a little, and he could already sense the change in the air. "Even though she is generous in nothing else."

"Oropher!" Aerithil immediately snapped at him quietly, signaling towards Amdír and Amroth. They were letting Celeborn and Galadriel into Lórien, and they were technically ruling together in one huge unison. Even Thranduil raised his head at his father's seemingly rude and thoughtless remark, but Amdír's smile was all the same and Amroth didn't even listen to the talk around the table. Thranduil envied him for being able to do that.

"I wish not to offend anyone but this is the truth," Oropher shrugged, switching his gaze between Aerithil and Amdír. At the same time, Azadeth's hand was moving upwards even more, traveling to places and reaching hidden spots that made Thranduil catch his breath immediately. His skin was burning under his silk leggings and, before he could've controlled himself, he was moving not farther from the touch but more into it, seeking more and more with every second. He knew that Írwen most likely saw them, yet, he reached the point where the only thing that distracted him from his father's outrageous behaviour was this and he didn't want to let it go. Not now, not ever. "She bonds with those she needs something from. I kept discouraging Amdír from letting her and Celeborn into his realm, but he is yet to see the result of his rushed decision."

Amdír laughed at that lightly, taking a sip from his wine and looking at Oropher with an almost amused expression. Thranduil was already biting on his lower lip, resisting to close his eyes with all the will-power he had. It was harder than anything he had ever had to do before, especially that Azadeth didn't seem to slow down and his hand moved to the inner side of Thranduil's thighs gradually.

"Something tells me this cannot be the only reason you are so against her, my old friend," Amdír leant back on his chair. Oropher snorted gently, almost like a man.

"I am fairly sure that she was the one tempting my son to leave Lindon, I do not deny it, nor have I ever denied it," he noted, killing the last remnants of Thranduil's ability to shut out the conversation around him. He felt his father's disdainful look on him and no one was smiling around the table anymore. Instead, everyone was staring at him, and the prince's cheeks started to burn for an utterly different reason than desire or lust.

"Oropher, please," Aerithil tried quietly, staring at the table intently, but Oropher shook his head. It was the first time he had mentioned the matter, even in front of Thranduil, and the prince knew there was no way out of this now.

"We should all face it, Aerithil. Galadriel thinks she is better than the rest of us, just because she had seen the Blessed Realm," Oropher said, his voice dripping with hatred. He was talking only to Thranduil and no one else, but the prince stared into the candlelight instead of Oropher, his throat narrowing more and more with every passing second. "Her nonsense corrupted Thranduil, attracting him to abandon his responsibilities as a prince. Of course, she doesn't talk about how she cannot return to her homeland because she was too foolish to accept her place in the world. Following her too keenly, Thranduil might end up just the same."

"Enough, Oropher."

Aerithil was the one to cut Oropher off finally, just before Thranduil would've been ready to stand up and leave the room as quickly as his legs would've taken him. Azadeth's hand gently slipped from his thigh and then disappeared completely, leaving a void behind, a void that Thranduil couldn't fill. He didn't even hear his own thoughts from his raging heartbeat, and his eyes were burning from staring into the light for too long.

No one spoke for long minutes afterwards, but most of the elves around the table returned to their plates. Thranduil swallowed hard, hoping that the lump in his throat would dissolve. It didn't go away and, if anything, it only got bigger with every heartbeat.

He wanted to go. He needed to go. He wanted these pitiful looks to stop, he wanted to disappear in his room and not talk to anyone. And, more than anything, he wanted to be free.

He wanted what he could never get. Not in this life, at least.

"Excuse me."

Thranduil was pushing his chair back and walking out of the room without looking at anyone, without thinking about it twice. He felt the looks of the others burning holes in his back, he heard the disappointed sigh of Oropher and then another chair being moved. Someone murmured another "excuse me", but he saw not who it was.

He just walked out of the hall swiftly and didn't stop until he reached his room and finally took a deep breath.

Would it be so hard for his father to consider him his son and not only an heir? Would it kill him to express feelings towards him, to act like a father and not only a king? Would it hurt him to talk about matters like this privately and not in front of everyone?

Thranduil couldn't answer these questions, and the fact that he knew that not even Oropher would be able to do that made him disappointed the most. He didn't feel hurt just because of himself, but also because of Galadriel, because Oropher insulted her as well. Someone who was dear to his heart, someone who he cared about so much, and Oropher didn't respect that. He respected only himself, not his son, not his comrades, not even his wife.

The blond elf fell onto his bed and sank into the sheets, grabbing the blanket under his fingers to release some of his anger, bitter and stinging anger that filled his eyes with tears. He didn't feel like at home within these walls, and he wanted to go home.

He wanted to go back to Lindon. More than anything. And he couldn't.

When someone climbed into the bed beside him, he startled slightly, yet, he didn't move. He knew it must've been only one person, for only one person cared about him in this wretched place the way he wanted to. The recognition pushed his tears over the edges of his eyes but he buried his face in the sheets quickly, so the other wouldn't see him. He didn't want Azadeth to see him like this, even though he was sure the warrior had known it better than anyone.

The next thing Thranduil felt was a hand on his face, gently moving a strand of hair behind his ear. The brush of a finger against his skin was soft and warm, sending shivers down the prince's body and comforting his soul without words. It was such a significant touch, one that Thranduil would've recognised from a thousand other touches. It could heal, caress and comfort, inside and out.

It was everything he needed right now.

Azadeth moved closer, then, he pressed his lips against Thranduil's temple lightly, this one gesture enough to make the prince hold his breath for a long second before letting it out weakly. He was still hiding his face while Azadeth moved his lips towards his ear gently, and the blond elf could feel the other's smile on his skin at one point, just before he fully reached the tip of Thranduil's ear.

"I can't kiss you if you hide from me."

Then, he moved back slowly and waited. A moment later, Thranduil peeked at him with one eye smiling innocently and Azadeth smiled back. Thranduil turned his face to him hesitantly, the tracks of tears still visible, gleaming in the dim light of the torches. The warrior looked at him for minutes even, as much kindness in his eyes as Thranduil had never seen before from anyone, before he leant towards the prince and kissed him.

And then, Thranduil's world as he had known it ceased to exist.

There was pain in that world, so much pain and veiled trauma that Thranduil ignored it, not feeling ready to let it go. He had seen destruction, he had seen people dear to his heart die, yet, he couldn't quite understand it back then. It was his childish self that wanted to see dragons, the young and reckless Thranduil who thought the world was beautiful beyond the walls of his room, who hadn't seen blood until someone he could've easily called father was killed in front of his eyes. He had lost two fathers on that day, for Oropher had never been the same ever since. Thranduil had lost the home where he was born, he had lost his childhood, and he wasn't ready to grow up. There was pain, so much pain.

Then, he had lost his friends. He had seen the stars and remembered, he had known they were out there, thinking of him and their time spent together sometimes, but it was painful, because he was alone. He had not yet found that beautiful world he was dreaming of, he had not yet seen flawless heroes and he had not felt true love. It was painful, so painful.

Then, he had met Azadeth. There was one kiss, one kiss that burned itself into his memory and never seemed to leave him, one kiss that changed him and made him brave enough to dream again, dream of freedom and more kisses such as this. He had spent centuries waiting, then he got Azadeth back and earned his freedom. He was free for long days, he had learnt what an adventure was, he had learnt what it was to not be a prince. When the magic was gone and he was left alone yet again, he grew up a bit more. As if it was compensation for his suffering, Azadeth came back to him and got under his skin, bringing the not quite forgotten joy of freedom with him again.

Now, that life was in the past. The pain was in the past. And, as Azadeth pulled him closer and Thranduil climbed on the top of him, it was the promise of a new life, new adventures and new things to learn, and Thranduil couldn't have asked for more than this.

Thranduil didn't have to coax Azadeth's mouth open. His tongue slipped into the warmth that lied behind the warrior's lips and traced every hidden corner inside, his hand holding onto Azadeth's shoulder firmly. In that moment, it was only the two of them, two eternal bodies moving against each other in perfect sync, two pieces of a puzzle completing the other. And if, for a moment, Thranduil had thought it was only a dream, it wouldn't have mattered anyway. He wouldn't let it go either way.

Azadeth's hand was sneaking under the prince's tunic without Thranduil noticing, and only the burning sensation on his skin alerted Thranduil that clothes were slowly disappearing from his body. His vest was already on the floor and the only thing reminding the blond elf of that particular movement of Azadeth was the warm ghost of a touch on his shoulders. The prince's face was long buried in the black elf's neck, and he left his soft marks on the delicate skin while removing the black clothes of the warrior one by one. It took a while until Thranduil's fingers finally reached raw skin under those clothes but the feeling was worth it. He pressed his lips against the bare clavicles of Azadeth right away and the warrior turned his head to the side with eyes closed, offering Thranduil more skin to explore.

After making sure his teethmarks would remain, showing the world what was his truest possession, Thranduil straightened and placed himself on Azadeth's thighs, removing his tunic himself. The sight of the prince's bare chest rendered the warrior breathless, and he was unmoving for a long minute before he reached out and traced the lines on the blond elf's body with gentle fingers.

"Ci bain sui in elin," Azadeth murmured, his voice barely audible while Thranduil towered over him, leaning down with a smile and kissing him deeply. The golden locks of the prince fell around them like a curtain and Azadeth's hands were soon lost in it, pulling Thranduil as close as he could without hurting him. The prince didn't mind and, once their chests were pressed against each other, they breathed into the kiss at the same moment, just like the way they smiled into it a moment later.

And gods, was it the best feeling in the world.

As Thranduil settled himself closer to Azadeth's crotch when he took off his tunic, the prince could already feel the other's erection without doubt. Now, using his chance, he moved against it with his own, earning a low moan from the warrior. It was something Azadeth had never done before, making even the smallest sound, but, given how this was the first moment they were literally about to be together, Thranduil knew it was a moment worth waiting for. He wanted to give Azadeth everything he had never got while being with Fëanor, he wanted to make him fall apart under his hands, and it was the perfect start.

His locks brushed against the fair skin of the warrior as Thranduil moved his lips lower on Azadeth's body, discovering every inch on the black haired elf's chest that he could reach. Azadeth threw his head back once he felt the prince's fingers unbuckling his belt and pulling it out with one professional movement, as if he had done it countless times already. Thranduil made sure he only brushed his fingers over the hardest parts while removing the leggings but, the moment Azadeth's erection was freed and it moved against Thranduil's bare stomach, the warrior let out a low moan and Thranduil smirked.

It was the best way to forget about his problems, he had to admit it.

"I will need you to give me the instructions," Thranduil sat on Azadeth's thighs after pushing the leggings down to his knees, letting Azadeth shake them off for the rest of his legs. "I am so inexperienced."

The piece of clothing fell to the ground soon and Thranduil slipped lower on the warrior's legs, leaning down to taste his torso with his tongue. He drew circles on his skin and kept biting his mark into his flesh gently, earning sighs and quiet whimpers from the black haired elf. Azadeth watched him sometimes and, whenever their eyes met, Thranduil would give him a knowing half-smile and 'accidentally' brush his arm against Azadeth's stone hard cock. Those were the most beautiful moments, seeing Azadeth's eyes flutter closed and his head fall back on the pillow, his hands moving against the sheets.

Thranduil controlled him. He owned him. And it was one responsibility he was more than glad to take.

"Where should I go from here?" Thranduil murmured against Azadeth's stomach, the black haired elf's hardness touching his shoulder gently. "Tell me, Azadeth."

"Damn it Thranduil, don't play games with me," Azadeth breathed, his words barely audible between his heavy breaths. Thranduil was smiling while he kept kissing his pelvic, carefully avoiding the erogenous zone and moving towards Azadeth's thighs instead.

"Only you are allowed to do that, then?" Thranduil asked innocently, raising his head only to meet the murderous glance of the warrior. The prince gave him a cunning smile before looking down at Azadeth's cock, eyeing it intently for a moment before, staring right into the eyes of Azadeth, he touched the tip of his tongue to the other's erection and ran it over its whole length.

The result was priceless.

Azadeth tensed in his whole body and Thranduil saw the goosebumps on his skin, on even the smallest parts of his body. A broken moan escaped the warrior's lips as he tried to keep his head up, forcing himself to keep looking. Thranduil stared back, moving his lips against the other's cock delicately, tasting him over and over again. He turned his head to the other side then, peppering the warrior's shaft with soft kisses until he traveled from the bottom right to the top. Only then did he open his mouth and sucked at it, and that was the last thing Azadeth could take with his eyes open. He threw his head back, his hair splayed all across the pillow and he bit on his lip, drawing blood even. Thranduil smiled, his hands stroking Azadeth's stomach while the warrior's cock slowly disappeared in his mouth.

He was dreaming of this moment for so long now, ever since that day in the forest. On that evening he remembered touching himself, thinking of this very moment and coming with a desperate cry. His imagination was nothing compared to reality, and the more he learned what was good for the warrior, the more powerful he felt. This strange, ancient elf was depending on him now, Thranduil could decide what to do to him, and it gave him a strength he had never experienced before.

Thranduil bobbed his head as he circled around Azadeth's member with his tongue, sucking on it with an intensity gradually growing, and, the longer he had done this, the less Azadeth could hold back his needy moans. He couldn't look at Thranduil anymore and all he was capable of was to squeeze the sheets with whitening fingers, to throw his head to the left and the right. Every breath he took raised his whole body from the bed, his back arching the deeper Thranduil let him, and, the moment the prince's fingers moved lower to the inner parts of his thighs and opened his legs wide, sliding between the crease of his buttocks, the warrior bucked his hips until Thranduil nearly swallowed him whole.

And the prince let him. He let him in deep and Azadeth cried out Thranduil's name desperately, shooting his spend down his throat without any warning. The prince closed his eyes, holding his breath and swallowing it all. Given that he was truly inexperienced, it was even better this way and he held Azadeth's restless, shaking hips with firm fingers, allowing the warrior to claw the marks of his pleasure right into his very bones.

"Where did you learn that?" Azadeth's voice was hoarse and breathless, shock written all over his face as he looked up at the prince, the blond elf now using only his hands to help Azadeth through the aftermath of his orgasm. He was stroking the other's cock with a small smile, shrugging gently while he climbed on the top of Azadeth and kissed his shoulder.

"I had enough time to plan what to do with you once I have the chance," Thranduil answered, licking his lips before leaning down and kissing the warrior. Azadeth tasted himself on that tongue and he pushed his own deeper in Thranduil's mouth, pulling the prince closer by the back of his neck until they were one tangled mess.

The blond elf completely forgot about still having his leggings on, even though his own erection was already planting gorgeous pain in his lower abdomen, waiting for release. The moment he felt Azadeth's hand touching him he bit on the warrior's lip, only to hold back the moan that wanted to escape him, and Azadeth grinned into the kiss, moving over to Thranduil's neck from the prince's lips.

"I want to feel you inside me," Azadeth muttered against his skin and Thranduil shivered, letting his forehead drop on the warrior's shoulder. He moved his hips against Azadeth's hand gingerly, longing to feel the black haired elf from the inside, to be consumed in the tight heat the way he had always imagined.

His finger was sliding between the cheeks again, holding his own weight with one arm at the same time, and he was growing impatient already. Azadeth spread his legs obscenely wide but he didn't let Thranduil rush anything and reached for his wrist, pulling it to the side gently. Thranduil looked up with a slightly surprised and confused expression only to meet Azadeth's patient smile, then, the warrior reached back for Thranduil's cock again, palming it through the leggings only to hear the prince whimper.

"You won't fit inside me without help, valiant. We don't want to get hurt, do we?" he asked lovingly, as if he was a teacher and Thranduil a pupil, which, in this case, was pretty close to the truth. Thranduil wanted to slap himself for rushing it and nearly ruining everything, but he knew where to reach now.

He climbed over Azadeth and pulled out his drawer, finding the only thing he could think of that would be able to help: salve that was usually used for chapped lips. The warrior worked the prince's leggings off in the meantime and, the moment Thranduil's erection sprung free and moved against Azadeth's already hardening one, he lost all the strength in his arm and nearly fell on top of the warrior.

The black haired elf chuckled, nibbling on Thranduil's earlobe while the prince struggled his leggings off and pushed them to the floor, moving back to his original place atop the warrior and leaning down to kiss him. Azadeth took his tongue between his lips and sucked on it gently, earning a small moan from the prince while he worked the salve bottle open. The kiss grew more and more passionate the longer Thranduil took to cover his whole length in the salve, coating his fingers with the thick lube and reaching for Azadeth's hole again.

The warrior had his arms around Thranduil's shoulders tightly, his face buried in the prince's neck while he held his legs wide, breathing heavily as Thranduil's finger circled around his entrace at first. Thranduil felt the change in the way Azadeth was clinging onto him, as if his life depended on it, and only then did he understand the reason behind it.

As always, it was Fëanor.

_This... relationship, if I can even call it one, wasn't ruled by affection or love._

Fëanor took Azadeth over and over again, just to release his hatred for Melkor. The warrior's fair face resembled the most to the dark one's, and Fëanor's wrath had been haunting Azadeth ever since the beginning. He was abused and hurt, he was forced to do things that were painful, and the mere thought of it sent shivers down Thranduil's spine.

He pulled back slightly, his hand now resting on Azadeth's thigh and leaving its former place. The warrior waited for a moment before he looked up, the mix of confusion, fear and lust sparkling in his eyes as their gazes met. Thranduil didn't know what to say, he couldn't decide how to speak his mind, so he went with the simplest possibility of them all.

He caressed Azadeth's face gently with his clear fingers and smiled. And soon, seeing the fear being replaced by surprise and love was everything he had ever needed.

Azadeth was the one now who wrapped his fingers around Thranduil's wrist and led it back to where it was, ready to sink into him. Thranduil kissed him chastely as Azadeth pushed one digit inside, his fingers digging into Thranduil's hand in the process. It moved deeper without effort, tracing every inch of the warrior inside and widening him before the prince added another finger and started scissoring him. Azadeth was biting on his lips with his eyes rolled back into his head, and it didn't take long for Thranduil to find that sensitive spot that pushed Azadeth over the edge and made him cry out. It was the sound of utter pleasure and, instead of fidgeting out of the blond elf's hold, Azadeth was moving with him and not against him.

"Deeper," he said, his tone lying somewhere between a plea and a clear demand and Thranduil granted his wish. He pushed both his fingers inside him as far as he could, moving his hand around until he could easily thrust in and out.

There was a whispered 'more' in the air, a word that died on Azadeth's lips before he could've spoken it, yet, Thranduil had heard him. He circled one nipple with his lips and, while running his tongue over it and sucking on it gently, he added one more finger. Azadeth was holding onto the prince's forearm while crying out, his eyes closed shut and squeezed into a narrow line as the mix of pain and extreme pleasure washed over him. He bucked his hips against Thranduil's erection and the blond elf whimpered, kneeling between Azadeth's legs and, with his free hand, grabbing both of their cocks and stroking on it with one long movement. He used the exact same moment to push against Azadeth's prostate with his finger, buried deep inside the warrior and the black haired elf cried out once again, pulling at the sheets and nearly ripping them with his bare hands.

"Gods," Azadeth breathed for the first time in minutes, his eyes snapping open with need written all over his face.

Thranduil released their erections in that moment, withdrawing his fingers and earning a slightly disappointed moan from the warrior. The prince smiled down at him while placing himself between the other's legs properly, leading the head of his cock to the impossibly wide entrance that was only waiting for him. He then climbed on the top of Azadeth, leaning down for a chaste kiss before the warrior wrapped his legs around Thranduil's waist and started to push him inside, his heels delving into the blond elf's arse.

The tight heat around him was driving him mad, but Thranduil went slow. Their lips lingered over each other but they never fully met, they only shared the same air, breathing in and out in perfect sync. Azadeth's eyes fluttered closed as Thranduil sank completely inside him, his whole length filling the void that Azadeth hadn't even known of, and the prince smiled. Nose against nose and cheek against cheek, they slowly started moving, Thranduil thrusting in with sweet slowness, desperate to remember every moment.

It was the moment when the world around them slowly collapsed, gradually fell to pieces and it was only them. It was the moment when every single touch, even the smallest was enough to give goosebumps to their _hröas_ , to commence a wonderful song in their _fëas_. Thranduil had always imagined the first song was like this, and, behind his closed eyelids he had seen thousands of souls around them, brushing against his back as he wished to move deeper and deeper. He hit that sensitive spot with every thrust, he earned that soft moan with every gentle kiss left on the ivory skin, and the tension building inside him, leading him to his orgasm felt distant now. It was an inkling in the depths of his body, as if it was an abysmal, eternal well, bigger on the inside.

He had never felt this before. And he knew for sure that Azadeth felt the same way.

The warrior moved his hips faster and Thranduil filled him deeper, but he didn't let the black elf touch himself. He had enough self-awareness left to not let him and he himself took the warrior's erection in his hand, stroking at it in sync with his thrusts. Azadeth's moans grew louder and his breaths more rapid, and that deeply hidden tension was ready to overcome Thranduil. It was building up to the final explosion now, the ultimate pleasure, and, when Azadeth gently pulled at his hair and captured his lips with his own, Thranduil came.

Everything froze and whiteness blinded him. It felt like a wall coming down, and he had heard a voice in his head, a voice he had never heard before. It was silent at first, then louder and louder until it filled his mind like a mantra, a prayer. This feeling was bigger than anything before, and it took him minutes until he realised what was happening.

He had heard Azadeth in his head. The wall that he saw and felt breaking down, it was the wall between them, the wall that both of them were holding up in self-defense. They hid behind it, protecting themselves from pain and suffering. They hid from each other, and they hid from the world.

And now, those two walls became one, and they weren't afraid of each other anymore.

When the image cleared in front of Thranduil, he felt his face being covered in wetness - hot tears. He felt the hot breath of Azadeth on his face, the warrior's fingers drawing circles on the back of his head gently, as if he was comforting the prince. Why he was crying, he wouldn't have been able to tell. Maybe it was happiness, maybe it was relief, maybe it was both.

He slipped out of the heat of the warrior and lay next to him, his face hidden in the other's shoulder while Azadeth pulled the sheets around them. Without words they lay for minutes, hours, perhaps the whole night, and Thranduil wore the softest of smiles on his face.

There was no need for words anymore. And that, that was the happiness he was wishing for for so long.

  
Everyone in the hall was silent as Thranduil walked up to the front of the room, stopping right beside the girl in long, white robes, her hair falling over her shoulder, gleaming in the golden light. Írwen was beautiful, perhaps more than ever before and Thranduil smiled at her, earning a smile in return. He wasn't frustrated, he wasn't nervous. He was happy, and he took the ring from behind his back, falling on one knee before her.

Her smile widened and he showed her the ring, taking her shaking hand with his own delicately.

"May I?" he asked, his voice loud enough for only her to hear. He could tell she was about to laugh but she held it back and nodded. She seemed happy as well.

Thranduil slipped the beautiful silver ring on Írwen's index-finger, then rose to stand, never letting her hand go. The people in the hall applaused and the newly betrothed pair turned to them, watching over the elves they might rule over together one day.

No one knew that this ring wasn't the only one that was given on that day. For earlier, the same prince gave a ring he was given by his mother to a warrior, tangled in bedsheets, tangled in each other. And the warrior was looking at his prince now, beaming with pride, clapping like everyone else.

With the ring on his finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ci bain sui in elin = You are beautiful as the stars.
> 
> I really hope you liked this chapter. This is my first attempt in writing smut in English, and I think it's not that bad, but you decide. c:
> 
> Also, thank you for the long wait. I will try to wrap this fic ASAP, because my moodswings are coming out on this fic and I don't want to ruin it. I have new ideas and all I have to do is finish this fic finally. I will get there eventually.
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking around, I promise you I will try to come up with the next one sooner! c:


	12. The Time Shall Come

The plains of Dagorlad were barren, cold wind sweeping the fog aside as Thranduil made his way to his father's tent across the camp. It was close to midnight, yet, the camp was as alive as it could be. Elves and Men passed by, while Dwarves could be seen only eventually. It was a silent night, the sky shining down with a thousand stars upon the fields. The breeze was fresh against Thranduil's skin, and the prince entered the huge tent, biggest in the whole camp.

Red and orange lights warmed him up as soon as he stepped inside, the guards closing the tent behind him without hesitation. A few heads turned in his direction while the rest were still towering over the maps, planning and discussing matters. Those who looked at him smiled, and Thranduil, laying his eyes upon Gil-galad, smiled back brightly.

He couldn't believe his eyes.

"Your Highness," Thranduil breathed, letting out a relieved chuckle.

"Mellon nín," the King straightened from the table and walked over to Thranduil, hugging him tightly with a low chuckle. His hold was firm and Thranduil felt lost in the strong embrace, never once realising before how huge Gil-galad actually was. He wore blue and white robes, and he was still wearing a part of his armours. They were holding this council for hours now - it was only Thranduil who came late.

Gil-galad released him after a few moments, still having his hands on Thranduil's shoulders. It was the first time the prince could take him in properly, and he was a bit taken aback by the sight. Gil-galad seemed older and the lines on his face were sharper, as if he was aging all of a sudden. It was a shocking realisation for Thranduil, but he kept his smile on his face and stood the gaze of the High King.

"You are glowing, my boy," Gil-galad smiled, patting Thranduil's shoulder before standing by his side and leading the prince to the table. "I fathom returning home was useful for you after so long."

 _This is not even close to the truth,_ Thranduil wanted to say, but he just laughed shortly. He wished Gil-galad had been right, that the prince had enjoyed returning to Greenwood. The real reason why he must have been glowing was to be found in something else completely. Or, rather, _someone_ else.

And that someone was waiting on the other side of the camp, and Thranduil felt his stomach narrowing just by thinking of him.

"The boy is indeed glowing," Amdír noted as Thranduil and Gil-galad stopped by his side. The King of Lórien smiled at the prince and the High King, then, he leaned on the edge of the table. "But, then again, he has every reason to. Marrying such a fine lady could easily be anyone's dream coming true."

Gil-galad's face seemed surprised for a moment after Amdír revealed the news of the marriage, and Thranduil laughed. He suddenly felt the weight of the ring on his hand and he turned it around his third finger absentmindedly.

"What am I hearing?" Gil-galad downright grinned and Thranduil dropped his gaze, showing only a small and shy smile as a response. "Who is the lucky lady?"

"Don't act like you didn't know, Gil-galad."

The sound of Oropher's voice came as the cold winds in an otherwise warm summer day, and Thranduil looked up immediately, his smile slowly disappearing. Oropher was standing across the table, not even casting his glance on either of his comrades, nor his son. He was intently staring at the map on the table instead, thinking up the strategy of the upcoming battle.

"I heard that you didn't miss to inform the Lady Galadriel on the matter either."

The new realisation once again hit Thranduil like a mace in the chest and he blinked, the silence nearly deafening him.

Everybody knew it but him. And no one thought it would be fortunate to tell him, no one thought it would save him the shock and pain.

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Azadeth knew and he didn't tell him, but his explanation was clear enough. In his place, Thranduil would've done the same. But he highly doubted that either Galadriel or Gil-galad had a proper excuse, and he was positive that they would never ask for his forgiveness. No Lady and no King would do that. No matter how they knew they made a mistake.

"It does not alter the facts, my friend," Amdír broke the silence at last, that small, knowing smile full of secrets ever present on his face. "Írwen is an exceptional lady, and I very much like her myself. She will make a fine Queen, and a very affectionate mother."

And Thranduil had to admit it: Amdír was right. Írwen was wonderful, inside and out, and Thranduil loved her dearly, like one would love a sister. Marrying her was something he didn't have disposal of, but he accepted it, and she accepted him. That was all he needed. The friendship that grew between the three of them, Azadeth included, was strong enough to endure anything, and it made everything a hundred times easier. Once Thranduil learnt the story of Azadeth and Írwen, how they met long decades ago and how they found each other quite interesting back then was a good base to start out from, and the love between the trio grew like the grass in the spring. It gave solace in hard times, and Thranduil was truly happy that Írwen was the chosen one in the end. The problem was not with the lady, but the methods of the High Elves, thinking that they could use anyone as a puppet in order to stay in charge of the future. And it turned Thranduil's stomach.

The time he wasn't willing to spend with his father, he spent with his friends. Oropher was talking to him only when it was the most necessary, and even Aerithil seemed distant, more than ever before. It hurt the prince, but he did not think of himself as the one who was supposed to change this situation. So, he waited. And the circumstances had barely changed over the weeks.

Even now, the cold look of Oropher was on him, and it sent a chilling shiver down on his spine under the clothes. He was the only one not wearing armours in the tent, and he wielded no weapon. He knew his father was resentful for that as well.

"We win this war and they can get married," Oropher murmured, turning back to the map. Gil-galad was still silent, avoiding Thranduil's gaze as he went back to examine the strategy. "But for that, we will have to win first."

"And we have a very good plan for that, King of the Woodland Realm."

Thranduil didn't even have to turn around to recognise that voice, to remember that hoarse, deep sound that was so unique it couldn't be mistaken with anything. He slowly glanced behind over his shoulder, only to see Elendil and his son, Isildur entering the tent, with several other Men behind them. The King of Arnor walked into the tent in full armour, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he took in the sight that welcomed him inside, then, he settled his glance on Thranduil. The prince immediately felt like he was set on fire, the memories of his little adventures coming back to him as if they had happened only yesterday.

He remembered what Elrond and Círdan told him: that the King was not mad at him, and that he actually found Thranduil's spirit quite appealing. Yet, it was a mighty King that Thranduil faced now, and anything he was told simply slipped out of his mind at the moment. He just stared at the Man nearly taller than him and waited, holding his breath.

Then, Elendil smiled and Thranduil's eyes widened.

"I am very glad to see you here, son of Oropher," the Man noted, taking in Thranduil's whole being with one long look. "I have spoken to both Lord Elrond and Lord Círdan about you and the impression you had left on me and my people."

"It seems my son is quite the one to leave doubtful impressions on everyone wherever he goes," Oropher said, sighing deeply as he straightened. Alike to Elendil, he as well grabbed the hilts of his swords and held his hands on them. He suddenly seemed taller than before, and Thranduil glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

"I do think the King of Arnor already knows how sorry I am for bringing shame on your name, Father," Thranduil muttered bitterly, speaking up for the first time since long minutes, annoyance all but crawling under his skin. Elendil laughed shortly and walked around the table until he stopped between Gil-galad and Oropher, casting a quick look at the table.

"I have never had a reason to feel disappointed because of my sons," he sighed deeply, looking pointedly at Oropher. "I think you are the same, Your Highness. Making mistakes will only teach him to live a wiser life. He is only human."

Oropher's smile felt more like a sneer and Thranduil felt utterly happy that Elendil didn't see it, for he was already examining the map. Yet, the prince could tell with a hundred percent surety what was on Oropher's mind, and it turned his stomach upside down, the icy look of his father piercing through him like a knife.

Thranduil was not mere human. He was an Elf. He was not supposed to make mistakes... not as Oropher's son. And now that he was not perfect anymore, not a true prince, it was as if he wasn't even Oropher's son anymore.

And, for the love of the Valar, was it unfair.

"It is time to talk about the strategy, now that we are finally all gathered here, don't you think?" Amdír took a deep breath, patting Thranduil's back in a fatherly fashion as he stood next to him. Thranduil couldn't even raise his head to give him a thankful look, but he felt immediately better whenever Amdír tried to save the situation. It was not the first time he had done just that. "We have a battle to plan, after all."

"Actually yes," Elendil spoke up, but his voice was completely different than a moment ago. It made even Thranduil look up for a second, curious of what he would see. Elendil's annoyed face was most certainly not it. "We have a battle, but we don't seem to have a plan."

These few words were enough for Oropher to flash a confused glance at the King, as if Elendil had just insulted him in the worst way imaginable. Thranduil had known that look, but he had not seen such expression on Elendil's face so far. He knew that once these two collide, something is most certainly going to go wrong. He wasn't sure if it would be fortunate right before such a huge battle. But, then again, he didn't have a word here anyway.

"I can't remember ever agreeing to such strategy in the past," Elendil looked back at the map, now joined by Isildur as well, although, the younger was still in complete silence. Their faces were grim after staring at the map for so long, and they obviously weren't impressed by Oropher's plans. But, then again, Gil-galad didn't seem too satisfied either, once Thranduil dared to move his glance upon him.

"Oropher keeps defying me," he sighed, a half-smile playing on his lips. It didn't reach his eyes, and it told Thranduil more than a thousand words. "He thinks a hit-raid would serve us the best, but I do think he strongly underestimates the strength of the orcs."

Thranduil took his chance to examine the map as well, and only now did he see what the others were talking about. Oropher, along with Amdír's people, planned to attack the orcs from the southern line, breaking into Mordor from the western side of Údun. Even Thranduil, with little to no experience in such great battles, could see that this was madness - Oropher and his small group of Elves couldn't get even near to the Black Gate, let alone get around it and break in through the mountains. It was suicide, and the panic that rose in Thranduil's chest nearly suffocated him.

Oropher didn't look like he realised all this, though. At the moment, all he cared for was his insulted pride and nothing else.

"I can and I will break through those passes, and I do think you should be trusting me on this instead of saying I am defying you," Oropher held his ground, placing his hands on the map and pointing at the Black Gate. "The orcs will expect us from here. However, if we start out a few days earlier than planned and get around the corner of these mountains in time, we can surprise them. The Dwarves and the Elves of Rivendell can attack from the direction of the Black Gate. They can break through once the greater part of the army from the west had cleaned the way."

Elendil let out a snort and all but stepped back from the table, shaking his head with the greatest fake smile Thranduil had ever seen. The prince himself would've loved to speak but all he could do was to keep his mouth hanging and fail in his attempts. His father's ignorance was going to such extremes that it was hard to comprehend it anymore.

"Did you perhaps forget about the huge number of orcs still roaming in Gondor? Did you forget that the west is poisoned and filled with Sauron's followers?" Elendil raised his voice, his smile now all but gone. Oropher was giving him the death glare, but Elendil didn't seem to be touched by it, not even a little. "Even if I presume that they won't attack us from behind, would you care so little for the people of Middle-earth as to sacrifice the Dwarves and the Elves of Rivendell for your selfish purposes? Would you send them into sure death?"

Dead silence fell on the tent that no one dared to break, and only the sound of the people breathing was audible. Thranduil didn't know what to expect from his father exactly. Did he expect him to burst out and start yelling? Did he expect him to storm out of the tent? Did he expect him to silently bow and accept what the others were commanding? Thranduil had to realise that he didn't know his father well enough to tell which one would happen, and it only increased the rate of his already rapid heartbeat.

"What do you think we should do, Prince Thranduil?"

The sound of Isildur's voice came as complete surprise, and the prince looked up in absoluteshock. It was the very first time that Elendil's son had ever addressed him or spoke to him, and that one question was enough for the whole tent to turn their eyes on Thranduil.

He had to decide quickly. Would he support his father and go against everything he thought was right, or would he, in Oropher's eyes, betray him and do the right thing?

A few years ago, he would've done the first without a second thought. He would've tried to satisfy him, to make him proud. Then, however, Thranduil met someone that taught him how to make his own choices and never put anyone first besides himself. And Thranduil wasn't the same person anymore.

He opened his mouth for an answer.

"We have fought under the command of Gil-galad so far," Thranduil started, looking down at the map intently. "I would wish not to abandon the tested methods for paths not yet explored. There is way too much on the line and it would be foolish to lose so many while we can battle our way in more slowly but without having to sacrifice half of the armies."

Then, Thranduil looked up, right into the wide eyes of Oropher. He saw disappointment and shock, a flash of betrayal that the prince wasn't ready for. Nevertheless, he added:

"I am sorry, father."

And then, Thranduil just knew that the look in those ancient eyes could mean only one thing.

That he was most certainly not a son. Not anymore. And who knows for how long now.

  
"Alass... enyan."

"Softer."

"Alassenyan."

Azadeth chuckled lowly, biting teethless marks on Thranduil's wet shoulder. The bathtub just couldn't seem to be too small for both of them to fit inside, even though the water was dangerously close to running over the edge. The prince settled himself between Azadeth's legs, his back pressing against the warrior's chest and his fingers drawing light circles on the black haired Elf's knee. He was laughing now, tasting the brand new language as if it was another sweet wine he was offered. He knew only little in Quenya, but Azadeth was surprised to see that he was fairly good with learning.

"Tullen tye-rehtien," the warrior said, brushing Thranduil's locks with his fingers gently, careful not to pull on them. "Say it."

"Is it the one with the rescuing?" Thranduil dipped his hands in the warm water, sliding his palm lower on Azadeth's legs, as long as he could effortlessly manage.

"Ná," Azadeth smiled, looking at the prince as the blond laid his head on his shoulder, sighing deeply.

"It's hard."

"Tullen tye-rehtien," Azadeth repeated, pronouncing every word separately and softly. Thranduil was the first person he could talk to on his mother tongue for a long time now, for, even with Galadriel, he had to use Sindarin. Now, he felt like at home and he couldn't stop smiling, never taking his eyes off Thranduil.

"Tullen tye-rehtien," Thranduil said hesitantly, uncertain but correct. Azadeth's smile widened and he slid his palm over the prince's chest, cherishing every inch that he could touch.

"Istan quetë ya merin, ar lá hanyuvatyen."

The warrior was downright grinning now and Thranduil narrowed his eyes at him playfully. He knew this game way too much, but he felt frustrated he couldn't do the same.

"It is easy to speak to me on a language I can't understand," he attempted to sit up, pouting his lips, but he soon felt Azadeth's hands around his chest, pulling him back with a laugh. Water was pouring out of the tub, flooding the floor around them but neither of them cared. Azadeth was keen on reclaiming Thranduil, and the prince wasn't exactly trying hard to get away from him.

After all, he was already smiling, biting at the other's neck once he returned to his rightful position.

He looked up at Azadeth then, a loving smile shining down at him from the warrior's face now, and Thranduil felt like shaking.

"I want to hear the first thing that pops into your mind," Thranduil asked with the curiosity and excitement of a child, biting on his lower lip with a playful smile. He knew Azadeth had something on his mind already, but he also knew that the warrior wasn't sure whether he should've said it or not.

Now, he was given the permission. And, after a little hesitation, he opened his lips to speak.

"Nalyë melmë cuilenyo."

The words poured out of his mouth so gently as if he was casting a spell on Thranduil and the prince watched with wide eyes, the same smile ever so present on his lips still. He was indeed mesmerized by this language, by the way Azadeth was speaking to him, and the fact that he didn't understand it only made it more exciting.

He was almost afraid to ask:

"What does it mean?"

Azadeth raised his hand gingerly, caressing Thranduil's cheek with his wet fingers. He barely even touched him, yet, Thranduil felt as if his skin was caught on fire the moment Azadeth's hand met his flesh. His eyelids fluttered and he could feel the warrior's heart throbbing against his back, the heat radiating from the Elf's body nearly melting them together.

Thranduil was itching to know what those words meant, what magic Azadeth was using on him. Yet, he didn't have the chance to learn it.

For, in the same moment Azadeth opened his mouth to answer, Oropher entered the tent.

And once he entered, the magic immediately left.

The silence that fell on the tent was deafening, and Thranduil could've sworn that he had heard everyone's heartbeat stopping at the same time. His own was growing more and more rapid inside his chest the longer he was staring at his father, and the king was staring back at them with lips slightly parted in shock. It felt like time had just stopped for a moment and no one was moving, not even the entrance of the tent in the cold wind outside. It was a moment of complete tension, and Thranduil blinked.

_It was about time, isn't it?_

It was the first thing he could think of and, oddly, he didn't feel worry or despair. If anything, his chest was filled with an unusual sort of relief, and he breathed out slowly, as if it was another way to keep the moment going. He wasn't happy that his father walked in on them, obviously, yet, the expected fear was missing. He didn't like lying to his father, and he knew that his mother was holding her back for them as well. Thranduil knew not what would await them afterwards, but his first instinct was not to jump out of the tub and start explaining.

He squeezed Azadeth's hand underwater, and brushed his thumb over the top of his hand.

 _It's going to be fine,_ he said, knowing very well that Azadeth had heard him. And it was the moment when Azadeth squeezed his hand back, and Thranduil knew he wouldn't let go anytime soon.

"What is the meaning of this?" Oropher muttered, his face still too largely covered in shock to give space for anger or disappointment. His eyes were flooding with emotions, though, and Thranduil didn't cease to notice.

No one answered. The silence remained and Thranduil stood his father's glance without any movement whatsoever. Oropher seemingly couldn't decide who to look at, but, once his shock seemed to reduce somewhat and his eyes narrowed with fury, his gaze was most certainly based upon Thranduil.

Still, the prince feared nothing. And his hand never lightened its squeeze on Azadeth's, not even a little.

"I asked you something," Oropher spoke again, slightly raising his voice but still far from yelling. Thranduil swallowed, trying to muster up a decent thought, but Azadeth spoke first.

"My Lord-"

"Thranduil," the king cut him off without even giving him a chance to speak, looking sharply at his son with his piercing blue eyes. "Talk to me outside."

With that, Oropher left the room after a sharp turn, only the sound of his robes remaining after him. The tent was silent yet again, and Thranduil could hear the sharp breath that Azadeth took the moment Thranduil let go of his hand. The prince was out of the tub before Azadeth could've uttered a word, and, not caring for the unpleasant, sudden cold that left his body shivering in the lack of Azadeth's presence, he quickly reached for his gown. His hair was damp from the gentle brushes of Azadeth's wet fingers, his back was still warm from the other's chest, and, before walking out of the tent, he stopped abruptly for a moment. Azadeth didn't speak, but the prince could feel the other's glance between his shoulderblades.

Thranduil slowly turned to look back over his shoulder, only to catch that beautiful, worry-filled glance looking straight at him, and he suddenly found himself smiling with his heart throbbing in his throat. It was a smile of reassurance, a smile of love and trust, and, after giving Azadeth a small nod, he walked out of the tent.

The fresh, autumn air outside was awakening, almost hitting Thranduil directly in the chest. No guards were around the tent at the moment, only Oropher was standing with his back to his son. Thranduil figured that the king had sent away everyone so he could give him a thorough lesson on how to behave like a prince and, honestly, Thranduil was ready for every possible outcome.

Or, so he thought.

"Forgive me, iôn nín," Oropher said, his voice almost gentle, and Thranduil's eyebrows rose. He didn't go too far from the tent, nor he neared his father more than necessary - he was just standing there, with his arms wrapped around his upper body to keep some of the warmth inside him. He could not see his father's expression, but, deep inside, he was glad he couldn't. "I am sorry that I let things deteriorate. I was accused of letting you down and... I think there might be truth amongst these accusations."

If possible, Thranduil's brows rose even higher at this and his arms fell next to his sides, limply.

"You were accused by whom?"

Oropher turned around slowly, and the smile on his face was nothing sort of usual or expected. He seemed completely different from who he usually was, and it caught Thranduil absolutely off-guard.

The king approached him with small steps, eyes fixed on the ground, as if he was too ashamed to look at his son.

"First, the High King," he started with a small shrug, and Thranduil had to collect all his remaining will-power to not let his jaw drop. "Then, your mother."

"Mother?" Thranduil repeated, and he was sure that the Elf in front of him was not his father. He couldn't be. It seemed utterly impossible, yet, it was the truth, and Thranduil couldn't digest it just yet.

"Gil-galad didn't know of you having company on your escape being a secret, so he gave it away without any hardships," Oropher said, stopping right in front of his son and looking up at him properly for the first time. "Then, I rushed to your mother, demanding an explanation for the lie, and she told me I was not paying attention to you. She told me I ceased to be your father and I only thought of you as an heir."

The shock was complete by this moment, and Thranduil couldn't help himself for any longer. His jaw dropped and he stared with wide eyes, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Is it possible that the look in his father's eyes was sincere? That he realised the truth in Aerithil's words and he admitted that he was wrong? Could it be?

He couldn't remember ever hoping for something so badly. And he knew he wouldn't hope again with such determination in his entire life.

"I came to realise that my absence from the moment I left for Greenwood is to blame for this, I am to blame for this abyss that seperates us, and I don't wish it to deepen even more." The weight of the king's hand on Thranduil's shoulder was heavy but firm, yet, Thranduil didn't move an inch. The smile on his father's face was so unusual that it was already odd, and the look in those eyes was planting doubt inside him now, not only pure hope. Yet, Thranduil didn't speak, and he kept his eyes on Oropher's face without a blink. "Since you accepted your duty as a prince and you proposed to the Lady Írwen properly, I am proud of you. I am willing to forget about your escape and this little affair of yours on the condition that you end it here and now, iôn nín."

The hope that seemed too great to bear, the hope that filled him with unstained joy for the first time in ages, was gone so suddenly that it left a huge, vacant hole inside Thranduil's chest. A hole which from the ghosts of past decades scolded him for being too foolish to ever think Oropher would accept him, for believing that he wouldn't have to hide. And he felt foolish indeed, he felt a greater fool than ever before, and the disappointment that tore at his heart showed on his face as an empty smile.

He shook off Oropher's hand from his shoulder without effort, and the king's smile dropped right away. Instead, there was confusion on his face, while Thranduil's anger only grew and grew. And he knew there was nowhere to store it anymore.

He had had enough.

"Do you think I would be willing to give Azadeth up for your approval?" Thranduil asked, his voice deep and full of resentment that he didn't even know he was speaking with. "Do you think I would give myself up for the sake of a father who abandoned his family? Do you expect me to accept your apology, father? Or should we address each other as King and Prince instead, for these are what we are, father. We are King and Prince, nothing more."

The slap came out of thin air like a sudden gust of wind, but Thranduil didn't fall back. His head was buzzing from the hit that he received, but it didn't hurt. Not anymore. All he did was turning his face back to look at Oropher, the king now boiling with fury and hatred, his gentle expression long gone. Thranduil caught himself smiling again, this time with more disdain than ever, and he looked at Oropher with such determination that the king had never seen from him before.

"I love Azadeth," Thranduil muttered, lowly but on a perfectly audible voice. "You can break my betrothal, you can disinherit me, you can exile me all you want. But you won't see me choose anything over him, I can swear on that."

And then, Thranduil turned around and walked back into the tent.

Once he set his foot inside, he stopped abruptly. The rush of adrenaline that kept him speaking up so far was slowly leaving his body, and he heard his heartbeat raging rapidly inside his ribcage. The angry steps of Oropher were leaving the site, Thranduil could tell, and, only when the sound ceased completely, did he look up at Azadeth.

The sight was priceless.

The warrior was out of the tub by now as well, wearing one of Thranduil's dark scarlet gowns as he stood only mere feet away from the prince. His expression was completely unreadable, but his eyes gave him away immediately. It was the most beautiful glance Thranduil had ever been on the receiving end of, and he felt his throat narrowing from the feeling it generated in him. Only now could he properly recall what he was saying a few minutes ago, and he didn't have to think hard to remember which part could've affected Azadeth in such fashion.

Thranduil caught himself smiling again, yet, this time it wasn't disdainful, doubtful or empty. It was a smile of relief, and, even though he was uncertain of what would come, he felt happiness.

True happiness.

Especially when Azadeth walked up to him and wrapped him in his arms. Because yes, he wouldn't give this up, not even for all the treasures of Middle-earth. It was home, and it was always going to be home.

He buried his face in the warrior's neck and breathed in. Feeling Azadeth do the same was already worth it all.

  
The steps of the Elven Queen were light on the dewy grass just before dawn. The Sun was nowhere to be seen on the eastern end of the Field of Dagorlad just yet, but the birds were already awakening and were singing in the distance, filling the air with their songs. They inhabitated whatever tree they found, and the mere presence of nature in a desolated place such as this was giving the Queen comfort. To her, and everyone else around the camp.

Only few did she pass as she walked between the tents. Those who had seen her bowed to her deeply, and those who dared to look in her eyes received a small, gentle smile. She was not happy, but what was a Queen to her people if not the source of hope? In the middle of the battle, she was the one who gave them strength. So she smiled, even though she wished to weep.

The guards in front of the tent coloured in blue and white had caught her sight from afar, opening the tent for her in advance. She bowed her head slightly, careful while entering, then, she raised her gaze to look around.

There was no one in the tent. Both outside and inside, it looked like a king's residence indeed. It was huge, tables with plenty of food and maps in the middle, a bedroll with massive pillows thrown all around it on the side. Candles of every kind were lighting up the space, and, next to the basin, the king's armours were placed. It was sparkling golden, clean and majestic, just like the one any High King would be proud to wear, and, before realising where her legs were taking her, Aerithil had been approaching it, reaching out for a touch.

The surface was smooth, small carvings running under her fingertips as she kept tracing the breastplate. Oropher's were leather and silver, rough to touch and almost terrifying to look at. They fitted the Wood-elves who battled with bow and arrow, but they wouldn't have fit a king, a great and fierce king with immense power. The High King's armour was of pure gold, the royal blue cloak hanging behind it nearly brushing the ground.

Aerithil found herself smiling. She saw her own reflection in the breastplate, her own golden hair shining brightly in the light of the candles. How come she seemed so old? How come she felt as if she had lived millions of ages? Maybe she had, maybe she was too busy to notice.

But how come she ended up here?

She didn't hear the flip of the tent at first - she only saw the High King entering the room when his face appeared in the breastplate right next to hers. She would've expected herself to jump like an elven lass, to feel embarassed by being caught in such an odd situation, but she stayed calm and unmoving. But, then again, so did Gil-galad. He eyed her with the same kindness as always, then, he smiled.

"The boy is safe," he said, not even blinking. He held his gaze on Aerithil, and she kept watching him in return, as if he could've disappeared at any moment. "My best people are watching over him."

"And my son?"

She was almost afraid to ask, even though she knew very well the kind of answer she was going to be given. She knew Thranduil more than the prince had ever thought she would, and she would've been able to tell whatever the prince was feeling or thinking, just by one look. And that look in his eyes when he came up to her, asking for her help - she didn't need an explanation.

"They are together," Gil-galad sighed, slowly stepping inside the tent and walking towards the table. Aerithil was still unmoving, now examining the ground instead of the armours. She heard Gil-galad's muffled laughter, though, and she looked up gently, as if she was afraid to see him. "I highly doubt I should call that Elf 'boy', now that I'm thinking about it. It is most certainly disrespectful, given how old he must be."

"He is older than the Lady Galadriel," Aerithil felt a half-smile appear on her face as she turned around, now facing the High King properly. She wrapped her arms around herself, taking a deep breath. "And, apparently, he loves my son."

Gil-galad started laughing, something that she knew he had only done when he was amongst his most trusted friends, and she couldn't help herselt when she began laughing a little as well. It was indeed a thing to laugh at, after all, the both of them were those in the beginning who were against this unusual friendship the most. Thranduil should've acted like a prince, and Azadeth should've never showed his face near him.

Now... The High King and the Queen were those who helped them hide in order to be together. They were saving them, an apparently irrelevant pair of blindfolded lovers in the midst of the greatest battle since ages. Aerithil was going against her husband, and Gil-galad was going against his beliefs.

And did it hurt them? Not the slightest. So they laughed. And then, when they stopped, they just looked at each other, as if some kind of a silent arrangement was being tied between them.

Aerithil stepped closer, picking a point on Gil-galad's chest and fixing her glance on it, sighing once more.

"I thought Oropher would come round once I spoke to him of Thranduil's true feelings," she started, stopping only a couple feet away from the High King. "I thought he would see how that warrior had changed our son, how Thranduil grew up and learnt his responsibility next to him."

The silence wasn't tensed and the breeze that came in through the small gaps of the tent made her shiver slightly. She would've lied had she said she didn't feel responsible for all that happened between her husband and her son - she blamed herself, of course. But why she blamed Oropher the most was his utter ignorance, and she was angry, so angry that she couldn't even comprehend it. He was expecting Thranduil, her 'aerlinn nín' to learn what he was ought to know in order to be a prince, from one day to another. And, for the Valar, she was angry.

And she missed her 'aerlinn nín'. More than anything.

"Look at me, Aerithil."

She didn't even catch sight of Gil-galad closing the remaining distance between the two of them, and, as she looked up to see his face, he was already so close she could see her reflection in those dark eyes. He was a rare exception, being so dark and man-like despite of being a pure elf, and a secret part of her somewhere deep in her heart found it alluring. She felt warmth spreading inside her chest the longer she was looking up, and he cupped her face so lightly that it was barely even a touch. Yet, it left her with goosebumps, and she forgot why exactly she should've felt guilty in this situation.

She forgot everything. And it was a moment of absolute bliss.

"Your son is going to be a king one day," he brushed his thumb across her cheek gently, speaking so silently that only she could hear him. His breath on her skin left her with heavy eyelids, but she focused on his words and didn't allow her glance to slip to his lips. "And he is going to be a just and powerful king, one who will be loved by his people and his children, one who will lead a sumptous kingdom."

Aerithil found it hard to stand that touch, to keep breathing, to find her voice. Yet, she was still a Queen, someone else's Queen, and she couldn't forget that. She could forget everything else, but not that.

It was her tongue that betrayed her.

"How can you be certain?" Her voice was barely audible, a whisper naked with emotions, and Gil-galad smiled.

"Because he is just like his mother."

And then, she failed. How long had it been since words so gentle were spoken to her, since she was held so carefully, since she was loved by a gaze in such fashion? She could not tell. Now she knew why she felt like she had lived millions of ages already.

Her reflection, in the hazel eyes this time, was different now. She seemed to glow again, and she cared not how she ended up here. One look at those lips, lingering so near to her was enough, and she was lost. She failed, she forgot, yet, it was the sweetest failure she had ever endured.

Betrayal. Gil-galad's lips on her own was betrayal, yet, she clung into him, she held him and pulled him closer. In Thranduil she saw herself, and in herself she saw Thranduil. How he loved that warrior, with such desperation and need, how he kneeled in front of her and begged her for help, all that love, she saw that as she looked inside herself now. She kneeled in front of a greater god now, and the one she was kissing so fiercely, so desperately, was not her husband. She had forsaken the Valar and her own oath that she took for Oropher, she had betrayed Oropher, yet, she did not back away. She tasted love on those lips, she tasted the battle and the need, and the hand on her body was telling the same. It wanted her and owned her without degrading her value, without offending her, and she felt hot tears piercing her eyes.

How long had it been since she was last kissed like this? How long had it been since she last felt young?

She could not tell, she forgot. She was not a Queen in those arms, and it was bliss.

Only a moment of bliss.

  
The tent Gil-galad provided them was different from Thranduil's, in everything. The colours, the smells, the sight, the space... Everything was different. It felt foreign, yet, it was the safest place they could think of. They were surrounded and protected, and it didn't feel like preparing for a battle in that moment.

Thranduil raised his arms and Azadeth helped him with the armours, fixing them on the prince tightly - so did the blond the other way around. They were preparing each other awfully slowly, and the tension that was growing around them nearly crushed them. They did not speak, they barely exchanged short looks, they just moved in unison, in complete silence.

During the entire night they stared at each other. They knew what would come for them at dawn, that they would march out and do what they came for - yet, they slept not, not even a moment. Thranduil tried to burn every single line of Azadeth's face into his memory, he tried to create an image he would remember forever and one look was enough to tell that Azadeth was doing the same. They were numb on their sides, their eyes ached and they felt sore, but they stayed there and watched.

Now, the prince had to realise that he was afraid. He had been in the former battles, he had killed orcs and saw what they would face soon, yet, he felt as inexperienced as ever. He was terrified and scared, but he thought if he hadn't spoken of it, it would go away.

It hadn't.

"You are ready."

Azadeth's words quickened his heartbeat, but he fixed his glance on the floor. Then, he turned and watched himself in the mirror, with the warrior right behind him.

Azadeth was ready minutes ago. He prepared Thranduil slower than the other way around, and the prince swallowed, burying his gaze in the dark elf's.

What were they in that moment? Friends? Comrades? Brothers? Lovers just before a farewell?

No, it couldn't be a farewell. This battle, here and now, would be just like the others... wouldn't it?

He knew Azadeth would not answer. And the fear in that terrible silence crushed him at last, making him turn around swiftly and parting his lips to speak. Only that no words came, and he looked like a child in armours.

Why was he afraid? Why was he lost?

"The other day, you said you wouldn't choose anything over me," Azadeth let his glance slide lower, stopping on Thranduil's chest. His words were delicate, and Thranduil was longing to listen to them forever. He ignored his fears. "Now, I beg you to do so."

Thranduil swallowed and he felt a tingling sensation in his fingertips. He wanted to touch, but he dared not.

Just ignore it, Thranduil.

"You won't leave my side, will you?"

Azadeth looked up, a storm gathering behind his azure irises. He was beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

"Tell me you won't risk your life for me," Azadeth continued, his voice more determined this time, but Thranduil pretended he didn't even hear him.

"I am a prince, I can order you to stay at my side, if that is my wish." His smile was empty and odd, one that was never meant to reach his eyes, and he tried to turn back to the mirror, but Azadeth caught his shoulder and held him at one place. Thranduil's smile didn't fade, and the warrior was furious.

"Swear to me, Thranduil!"

"I won't."

He answered so silently it was barely audible, but it left Azadeth with eyes widened by shock, nevertheless. His fingertips dug into the armours on Thranduil's shoulders, but Thranduil kept staring at him in the eyes. He wasn't smiling anymore.

"Had I asked you to do the same, would you do it?" Thranduil's voice was calm and low, as if he had decided a long time ago what his answers would be. "Would you swear not to give your life for mine?"

"You are my prince," Azadeth muttered the words with naked anger, but he tried to keep his voice down. "My duty is to give my life for yours, not the other way around!"

"And if I weren't a prince?"

There was the silence again, nearly deafening, and Azadeth sighed deeply. He suddenly looked tired and desperate, but not the way Thranduil had looked like a few moments ago. Azadeth had never looked like a child - he was the same, ancient Elf even now, even like this. And it mesmerized Thranduil completely, up until the point he felt like smiling again. Yet, he didn't.

"You know my answer." Azadeth's grip weakened on the prince and Thranduil raised his hand, brushing his fingers over the other's cheek. His ring gently moved against the fair skin of the warrior and, once Azadeth raised his own hand and covered Thranduil's with it, the sight of his ring eventually made Thranduil smile. He let his thumb linger around the corner of Azadeth's mouth while he answered:

"And you know mine."

His lips filled the empty space his thumb left behind and he pressed a kiss on that corner, letting Azadeth tremble underneath him. The prince didn't back away for too long when he felt the other following him and capturing his lips with his own, the kiss growing passionate and desperate in mere moments.

If Thranduil was to die soon, he knew he would go to the Halls of Mandos with a smile on his lips. He would have this moment to remember, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRANSLATIONS:**  
>  Alassenyan - For my joy  
> Tullen tye-rehtien - I'm here to help you  
> Ná - Yes  
> Istan quetë ya merin, ar lá hanyuvatyen - I can say what I wish, and you won't understand me  
> Nalyë melmë cuilenyo - You are the love of my life
> 
> I know that I didn't clear the circumstances of the story of Írwen and Azadeth, but I'm planning to write an additional series of oneshots where I explain all the things I didn't have time for in this fic (for example: how Azadeth and Írwen met, the moment Elrond and Lindir shared in Rivendell, and more on Gil-galad and Aerithil). I will let you know once it's clear how and when that oneshot collection is going to happen, all I can say for now is that it's most certainly going to be written and there will be several oneshots from both _Don't Go Where I Can't Follow_ and _King and Lionheart_. c:
> 
> Thank you for the amazing reviews on the smut in the last chapter, I was so happy that I didn't screw it up. The fic is going to get darker in the future, I'm already writing the last chapters and it's going to get very depressing. I promised a happy ending, but, before that, I'm going to make everyone suffer first. Brace yourselves for what is yet to come.


	13. Where Love Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A bit of gore, a bit of extreme angst, a bit of horror. I warned you.**
> 
> Also, I created a fanmix for the fanfic that you might want to take a look at, you can find it here: http://grinnerpace.co.vu/post/73856878605/after-the-long-exile-on-the-isle-of-balar

Azadeth had lived many evenings after a day of exhausting and heartbreaking battling.

He had seen the Dwarves during evenings such as these. They sang and drank and ate, they celebrated their victory and they parted from their dead with a cup full of ale instead of their beards dripping with tears. Azadeth had seen them from afar countless times, wondering what could possibly make them so happy and overjoyed. They lost their loved ones, they suffered and they took lives - what was it that made them so happy?

Seeing the Elves in comparison, he slowly realised the difference and he gave himself his answers. Elves were singing laments after battles, laments for those they lost, laments for those who already feasted in a different world with the dead of a different era. He often found himself thinking of those he held dear to his heart: where were they now? Were they content? Did they find what they looked for in the moment they knew the end had come?

He had to come to terms with the answer: he wouldn't know until he died. And the Dwarves sang and feasted for this very reason. They believed that their maker, Mahal would call for his subjects when they died, that they were in a better place, and those who managed to stay alive one day longer had lived without doubt. They trusted their beliefs, and, most of all, they trusted their maker.

Did this mean Azadeth had never trusted Eru? Probably. And, after realising it, it didn't seem impossible at all.

On the fields of Dagorlad he sat, farther from the camp. No one was around, and the warrior watched the dead. They were yet to be pulled aside and buried properly, they were yet to be given the final respect they deserved. Dead horses, broken arrows and swords, crushed helmets and torn armours lay everywhere around him. He recognised none of them, he just watched. He had done the same thing countless times already, whenever he managed to come out of a battle alive and well. In silence, he gave thanks for another chance to live, to the fate for not abandoning him, to death for not taking him. He never spoke to Eru, he never prayed.

He had a different god.

Now, he turned his ring around his finger over and over again and he stared into the fog. It was descending upon the field slowly, the brightly shining Moon breaking through the grey mist with its silver light. Looking at it for long moments, it almost seemed golden, and Azadeth's chest tightened. Even the Moon reminded the warrior of him, and he bowed his head.

Had he been closer in that moment, he could've prevented this. He could've fulfilled his duty, he could've protected his prince. His Moon.

Who knows how was he in that moment. And, the longer Azadeth was seperated from him, the more restless he grew. Yet, he just sat on the field and waited.

Hearing approaching footsteps for the first time since hours, finally, he snapped his head to the side and jumped up. He expected armed guards, maybe the King's men to use this chance and take him away, as far away from the prince as possible. He expected an arrow piercing through his heart immediately, a sword to be pushed through his breast.

None of these happened.

"The Lady Aerithil sent me."

It was a boy, Azadeth could tell. He was an Elf, no doubt, but he was younger than many he had seen in this army so far, and he was unusual. Despite his youth, he was tall and confident, his raven-black hair sweeping his lower back in the weak wind. Azadeth eyed him, not speaking a word.

The boy wielded only a sword, a fine sword. He didn't look like he had ever used it, though, but Azadeth had known better than to blindly go by first impressions. He grew up with Fëanor, after all.

"She asked me to tell you, the prince's condition is stable," the Elf continued, his voice barely a low murmur in the silence of the night. Only the light of the Moon showed Azadeth his face, but he had seen no ill-will in his eyes. He was honest. "You might see him if you wish."

Azadeth didn't even notice his heart beating in his throat until it seemed way too narrow to hold such a raging organ. He waited, whether there was a condition or a warning attached to the news, but, seeing the small nod that the younger Elf addressed him, Azadeth was not in control of his body anymore. He didn't say a word.

He ran.

  
_"Stop staring at me."_

_Thranduil chuckled lightly and Azadeth opened his eyes, only to meet the most loving smile he was ever given in his entire life. They were entangled in bedsheets, in each other's limbs, and the sight of Thranduil's bare torso put a smile on Azadeth's face as well. He wanted to kiss it, to own it - even though, it had been only a few minutes ago since he last tasted every bit of that delicate skin._

_"For a mighty king-to-be, you can surely stare a lot," Azadeth raised his hand, with the intention to push a stray lock of hair behind Thranduil's ear. The prince caught his wrist, though, and, pulling Azadeth's hand to his lips, he pressed an open mouthed kiss into the warrior's palm. Azadeth hid a shiver and he closed his eyes, swimming in the bliss of that touch that never ceased to render him breathless._

_He only looked up again when he felt the prince slipping something on his finger. He was met by a beautiful golden ring, shining in the light of the candles gently. It fit on his finger perfectly, yet, he didn't understand._

_"You shouldn't tempt me," Azadeth smirked, and the sight of Thranduil biting on his lower lip was already worth being alive for._

_"Or what?" Thranduil asked, sounding almost unusually playful for an Elf. But, then again, Azadeth knew that the prince would always be able to surprise him._

_"Or I will marry you."_

_"Please, be my guest."_

_They laughed into the kiss very soon. And no, they didn't stop at one._

  
Azadeth was out of breath when he stepped into the tent.

Healers in one corner were gathering their belongings, already preparing to leave, but Azadeth didn't keep looking at them for too long. He fixed his eyes on the motionless figure lying in the bed instead, and the mere sight of his chest rising and falling was filling him with incomprehensible relief. His hair was splayed all across the pillows, and the injured part of his face was visible only. It was bandaged heavily, but, even like this, blood was dripping the material at places.

The warrior swallowed. He had seen worse. Or, this is what he kept telling himself like a mantra.

"The prince must rest."

The voice of the healers nearly scared him and Azadeth turned to them, face completely unreadable. They were serious looking Noldor healers, probably from Gil-galad's kin. They didn't feel hostile, though, and Azadeth nodded.

"I won't bother him for too long."

"He kept repeating your name," the other healer murmured, glancing back to Thranduil with a somewhat more gentle expression on his face than his partner. "You had better be there when he wakes."

As if hearing them, Thranduil silently moaned in his sleep, most likely his injury hurting him more than what would grant him a soundless sleep, and Azadeth couldn't stop himself from stepping closer. He didn't pay attention to the healers leaving, all he had eyes for was lying in the bed in front of him. This Elf, sleeping with his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted as if he was waiting for someone to kiss them closed.

Azadeth gently sat by Thranduil's side on the bed, careful not to wake him or hurt him even more. He was afraid of what might be under the bandages - after all, this stupid prince encountered none other than the Dark Lord himself. It was only a miracle he came out of the blast alive.

Azadeth gently ran his hand over the blond locks, his fingertips tingling from the touch.

Stupid, _stupid_ prince. A golden haired fool.

And, for the Valar, Azadeth loved him. He loved this Elf more than anything in his entire life and now, he was lying under his hand, broken and shattered.

He leaned down to kiss the parted lips closed and, even in his dream, Thranduil smiled into the kiss before nestling himself into a deeper sleep.

And Azadeth stayed. He stayed all night.

The thing is, he didn't know it would be the last.

  
"Aerlinn nín."

The voice sounded distant and Thranduil's face flinched, a not quite satisfied moan escaping him as he moved his body. The first thing he recognised was pain, in his entire being, but mostly in his head; the second thing was absolute exhaustion that didn't seem to let him be; and the final thing was a strange tingling on his lips he couldn't explain.

He opened his eyes and the light nearly blinded him. It took him a minute even to regain his eyesight completely, although, only on one eye. He needed some more time to remember, to spin back time and recall the reason why he was in such pain. Then, and only then did he notice his mother sitting on the edge of his bedroll, eyeing him with deep worry in her emerald gaze.

He didn't remember the last time he was called 'aerlinn nín'. It most certainly made his chest fill with some childish warmth, and, despite his pain, he gave her a small smile.

"How long have I been sleeping?" Thranduil asked, his voice hoarse from not using it for so long. His smile was quickly fading, mostly because even keeping it on his face hurt him way too much.

"Eighteen hours," she murmured delicately, reaching to the side and taking a cup of - seemingly - water from a small table. "Try to sit up, iôn nín. You must drink."

Thranduil groaned as he sat up, his arms shaking under his weight. He was completely out of breath by the time he managed to regain his balance without anything to hold him from behind. The clothes were damp against his skin, his body felt way too hot, and not seeing on his left eye was a disturbance that bothered him more and more with every passing second. He took the cup, nevertheless, and drank it out at once, catching his breath once he finished.

"How bad is it?"

Deep in his heart he suspected what the answer would be, yet, he was well aware it would be the better the sooner he was told. Aerithil took her time as she placed the cup on the table again, moving awfully slowly with the unmistakeable signs of growing concern on her face. Thranduil kept his eyes on her, ignoring the throbbing in the greatest part of his skull.

He felt like he was burnt. The more he tried to remember, the more it hurt, and he couldn't recall the happenings crystal clearly. All he knew that he saw a dark figure approaching him, out of nowhere, and that was it. Blackness took everything afterwards.

Aerithil tried to avoid her son's gaze for a few moments, as if she was not quite sure what to say. Feeling Thranduil's warm hand on her cool one, she finally looked up.

"Mother?" Thranduil asked quietly, no sign of fear ringing from his voice. And truly, he was not afraid. At least, he showed naught of it in front of his mother.

Aerithil swallowed hard, her eyelids fluttering as she opened her lips to speak.

"Lord Elrond told me that, with magic, you can keep your looks and your eyesight," she murmured, her words hanging heavily in the air. Thranduil was already expecting a 'but' and, indeed, it came. "Otherwise, without the use of magic, the left part of your face remains burnt and ruined, and I'm afraid the pain will be constant as well, although somewhat easier to bear than now."

His heart was beating rapidly in his throat and his chest tightened at the words. Burnt. Ruined. Pain. Magic. He expected none of these, and he was left with a stinging, numb sort of shock, the kind that filled one with emptiness and distant pain.

He wasn't afraid. He didn't allow himself to be. He just had to face it.

"Can I see it?"

Aerithil's eyes widened with shock and Thranduil looked straight into her eyes. He understood her confusion and worry, yet, he decided not to give in to her persuasion if it came to that.

"Sooner or later, I would have to see it," Thranduil started the explanation, a weak smile he would've liked to be convincing playing on his lips. He didn't know if he succeeded. "Is it bandaged?"

The Queen watched him for a while before nodding slightly and hesitantly. His smile widened, as if he was trying to tell her this way that he was fine. He fathomed he should've convinced himself first.

"Then change the bandage, would you, nana?"

There was something in Aerithil's eyes at that word, something that made Thranduil want to curl up against her like long decades ago when he was only a mere elfling. He remembered those times and he cherished the memories, he loved thinking back on his childhood. He loved his mother immensely, and asking her to do this for him was his way to try and take them back to those times. To show her that the abyss that grew between them was not yet deep enough to be unbridgeable.

She must've known it, Thranduil noticed. She returned his smile and nodded gently, but, before Thranduil could've caught the sight of the tears in her eyes, she turned away and went to call for the healers.

A few minutes later, she returned. The camp, given the raging battle not too far away, was mostly empty, and finding the necessary belongings was not hard. In the silence, Thranduil could hear the sound of swords clashing together in the distance, horses whinnying and people dying - the more he heard, the more his mind was taking him back to the former day, and he was glad Aerithil returned before he could've lived through the depths of hell all over again.

Thranduil watched her, but his thoughts were far away. He was occupied with the ever-growing tingling on his lips and he reached for them slowly, carefully touching his fingertips to the soft skin. This was a familiar tingling, and, without thinking about it twice, Thranduil had spoken the words that were on his mind.

"Do you know if Azadeth had been here, mother?" he asked, his voice barely a murmur, as if he was afraid of the possible answer. His mother was preparing some water and a cloth to clean the injury, but, even from this distance, Thranduil could see the softness on her face she answered with.

"I sent for him once you fell asleep after the healers tended to you," she said gently, squeezing the water from the cloth and taking the bowl with the water, approaching Thranduil carefully. She placed herself on the bedroll again, glancing at Thranduil from the corner of her eye. "He had not left your side all night."

Thranduil's heart jumped into his throat at the last part, and he felt himself blushing immediately. What was this magic the warrior had cast on him, he knew not. The tingling in his lips was suddenly explained, and so was the feeling of contentment, despite the wicked pain in his entire body. He caught himself smiling, and only the Valar knew how long he was staring ahead of himself when he finally felt the expectant look of his mother on his face and he looked up.

Her expression made his brows rise in surprise.

She was smiling at him.

"I owe you an apology," she said, the wet cloth now in her lap. She made no movements to remove the bandages from Thranduil's face, though, but he momentarily forgot about that anyway. "I was not the grand example of a caring mother until I saw how that warrior cared for you from the moment he laid his eyes on you."

 _I would like to think that, but let's not talk about how he handed me over to those orcs,_ Thranduil thought ironically, biting back a smile and staying in silence instead.

"Had there been any way to grant the future of the kingdom if not by marriage-"

"I will marry the Lady Írwen gladly, mother," he cut her off without hesitation, earning a curious look from Aerithil. He knew he was speaking the truth, and so did she. "She is loveable and kind, and she has a soul alike of mine. My heart might be someone else's, but she has a place there, and I am grateful for that to father."

Aerithil smiled lovingly, happiness written all over her face while she raised her hand to cup Thranduil's unbandaged cheek and caress it gently. He leaned into the touch ever so slightly, his eyes fluttering closed with a sigh.

"Are you ready, aerlinn nín?" she whispered, her hand still on his face, and Thranduil swallowed hard. His heart quickened its pace immediately, just from the mere thought of seeing what was under the band, yet, he regained his composure swiftly and he nodded.

And then, she began unbandaging.

At first, it didn't hurt. Thranduil kept his eyes closed, and she moved carefully, working in silence. Then, the more bandage was disappearing from the wound, the more Thranduil could feel Aerithil's every single movement, and it started stinging. The pain came from the depths of his cheek, it filled his whole being and he held his eyes closed tightly, biting on the inner side of his mouth to keep out the pain. He soon found himself holding onto his mother's knee with fingers whitening, but she didn't stop and he never told her to do so.

"It's almost ready, iôn nín," she murmured, her breath warm against his skin. He held his breath, his heart beating in his throat heavily the longer he left it without fresh oxygen. The moment the last bit of the bandage was gone from his face, his eyes snapped open and he battled for air, now holding onto his mother's hands instead of her knee.

She squeezed his hand, and that was when he first saw the real tears in those green eyes. She was looking at the wound and she cried, not turning away this time, making Thranduil's stomach turn right away.

He still couldn't see anything with his left eye, and he felt cold air on his tongue, even though he was not parting his lips. He felt panic gradually growing inside him, the bliss and the contentment that the mention of Azadeth's name gave him disappearing like it hadn't even been there so far. Aerithil was slowly falling apart in front of him, her whole body shaking with sobs she was trying to hold back, and Thranduil felt fear overcoming him. He caught sight of the mirror his mother brought for him and he reached for it, holding it up to look at himself.

He faced an orc in that mirror, and he dropped it, memories washing over him.

He remembered. One look was enough to remember what that darkness was, how it got under his skin and poisoned him, how it tore him apart and put him back together. That pure evil sang the song of temptation in his mind until he grew deaf, he burnt Thranduil until he was ash, he destroyed him until he was in ruins. He was flying in the air and, when he landed, he was himself again.

Blood. Blood was everywhere, and it blinded him. It blinded him until he slipped away, into sweet unconsciousness, the song fading away from his mind at last.

Now, panic pushed him over the edge, and the same darkness took him again.

This time, the song didn't cease.

  
Azadeth had seen Fëanor in war.

He had not only been the most skilled craftsman of the Noldor - he was the greatest warrior and the fiercest of them all. He had everything his father had had before him, even more. He knew where he was going, he knew what he wanted to achieve, he knew no obstacle. Anyone who dared to cross his way, even though there weren't many, regretted it deeply, and Fëanor made them pay. Had he been a bit less hot headed, Azadeth knew he would've defeated those Balrogs and he would've been the one to defeat the Dark Lord as well.

Azadeth liked to believe that.

Seeing the great kings and warriors fighting side by side with him gave him the same impression on the Fields of Dagorlad.

They were all there. Men, Dwarves, Elves - they fought together, they kept slaying the mutants with never fading endurance, and they fought their way to the front and faced the enemy there. Trolls were towering over the fighting armies, blocking the rays of the Sun in the dim light. The rays tried to find their way through the mist and grey clouds that came as low as the ground more than once, but they could never stay for too long. The high mountains of Ered Lithui closed in around the battling armies, and the orcs came flowing out of the passes without a moment left to breathe. Yet, the peoples of Middle-earth fought valiantly, fear never overcoming them, and Azadeth felt young again.

He remembered the first time he entered the battlefield, he remembered how it felt to fight by the side of his father, to look up to their king, his lover, the only thing he fought for back then. Even though he didn't have a king now, his father was dead and his lover was lying in his tent, heavily injured, Azadeth found a reason to fight for. He called it redemption, although there was much more to it than that. He had never talked about how he missed his home, he had never even mentioned it, not even to Thranduil. Whenever he saw a chance to redeem himself from the sins he comitted, though, he took it. This time wasn't any different.

He slashed through an orc yet again, and he did not stop at one. The fight was the heaviest in these parts of the battlefield, and, no matter how many he killed, the mutants seemed to only duplicate with every orc who fell. He remembered not when and how he ended up so far from his kin, but he didn't turn around or back down. He killed and he killed blindly, with utmost ferocity. Not knowing for how long he had been enduring without water or food, and his body ceasing to remind him or warn him, he felt quite unsteady, but he fought nonetheless. One face was lingering in front of his eyes, one pair of azure eyes, two lips curving up into the sweetest smile he had ever been addressed, one sea of golden hair tickling his skin, even in his thoughts. He grabbed the sword more firmly and he screamed out as he turned, three heads flying through the air at the same time, after only one slash.

_I love Azadeth. You won't see me choose anything over him, I can swear on that._

When a ray of sunlight broke through the mist, Azadeth had heard Elvish commands coming from behind his back in the midst of Black Speech for the first time for what felt like ages. The orders to attack were given, and dozens of Elves were running past the warrior, rendering him motionless for a moment with their speed and strength.

In this moment, Azadeth had realised that he was staring at dots dancing in front of his eyes, and his throat was too dry for even one word to utter. He must've been fighting for hours now - only the Valar knew what time of the day it was, but Azadeth didn't have time to wonder about that. A hand on his shoulder distracted him and, turning around, he saw Oropher right in front of him.

 _He_ gave the orders. These were Silvan commands, and Azadeth had lost so much of his focus that he couldn't even tell.

He breathed heavily, sweat and dirt stinging his eyes, and Oropher gave him the emptiest of smiles Azadeth was ever given.

"Do not overwork yourself, Oiocuilë," he said lowly, just loud enough for Azadeth to hear. There was something in his eyes, some oddness ringing in his voice that Azadeth couldn't put his finger on. Yet, he didn't speak, he just listened without little to no expression on his face. "Or should I call you the _lewd rose_ instead?"

Azadeth felt his heart slowly crawl up into his throat and he stood Oropher's gaze without a blink, even though, on the inside, he was a raging storm. He tried to accept this Elf, he tried to understand him, for the sake of Thranduil. It was all for nothing. All he felt now was hatred and disdain, and they couldn't be swept away so easily.

"In war, one should move forward and forward until he can, fighting his way through the bees to get to the queen," Oropher continued, in an almost conversational fashion, even though a battle was raging around them. Azadeth swallowed, his throat aching as if it was sliced through with a sword, but he gave no sign of pain, and he kept silent. He didn't understand, but he felt no fear, he felt no worry. Oropher wouldn't harm him, he was sure of that. "But one shouldn't forget to look behind their shoulder now and then, just in case he was cornered and he walked into his doom instead of victory."

Azadeth felt a small smile creeping on his lips and, after a bit of hesitation, he moved a half-step closer. He already saw the golden haired Glorfindel approaching them, just about to interrupt, but Azadeth had to answer first.

He leaned in and murmured into Oropher's ear:

"The same is true for kings as well, my Lord."

Then, he didn't wait until Oropher answered. It was time to retreat for some time, and he walked past the King of Greenwood without a second thought.

Their temporary camp was different from the regular one and, while it was much smaller, it also had only a few people around. The hurt and the wearied, healers, servants and those of the soldiers who hadn't yet had their turn to fight. Azadeth had met many of those - they were young and promising soldiers, skilled and determined ones who were ready to wipe out the darkness, even if it meant their lives in exchange. Azadeth had always found the common ground with these fighters, for his knowledge and experience was well-received, and his age was already something to admire him for.

These soldiers were not in the mood of talking now, but neither was Azadeth. He drank the water as if he was absorbing the grace of the Valar itself, then, he leaned on a table heavily, his head hanging low.

How did Oropher know? How could he possibly know that name? Caranthir and Curufin were using that to refer to him, as if it was a code name whenever they wanted Fëanor to not recognise who they were talking of. It worked well, it was humiliating and it hurt Azadeth enough to show on his face. Maglor had always told him not to care, yet, it was harder to say than to do. Even though Fëanor being overly protective of him at the first times, he couldn't defend Azadeth from these offences, and Azadeth would've rather not talked about it.

So how did Oropher know?

It seemed that, with being Fëanor's lover for long years, he had no space for secrets.

"Are you fine?"

At the unexpected voice, the warrior looked up from behind his lashes, only to meet the bright and admiring eyes of Glorfindel. The blond was holding his own flask, his face smudged with orc blood and dust. His usually straight and flawless hair was now braided at many places, pulled back so it wouldn't be in the way, and he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a quick movement. His armours were of the army of Elrond, and he was well-equipped in contrary of many Azadeth had seen on the battlefield earlier.

 _He is a friend of Thranduil's,_ Azadeth thought to himself, trying to place the Elf somewhere in his mind. He remembered that scene in Rivendell, the two of them talking and laughing together before Thranduil had first come to see him in his tent. Could it have been that the prince came to visit him on the persuasion of 'the Elf who was too good for death'? Azadeth wouldn't have been able to tell.

He turned back to fix his glance on the table and he cleared his throat, not knowing how to answer. It was useless to lie, but so was telling the truth. Glorfindel had known it already, after all. He settled with keeping his silence in the end, and Glorfindel took it just as well as he would've done with an actual answer.

"I have not known the King of the Woodland Realm for too long, but I find it deeply astonishing how father and son can differ. It doesn't take long to notice."

Azadeth breathed out a chuckle lowly. He remembered feeling the same when he first laid his eyes on Oropher, although, in that posture by the wide feasting table, he had seen Thranduil in the King undoubtedly. Looks were misleading, though, especially amongst the Elves.

"Thranduil is not exactly the grand example of a king his father would like him to become," Azadeth turned to him with a small smile, absentmindedly fingering the carvings on his flask with his fingertips. "A king like Oropher himself."

Glorfindel seemed to think hard about that before responding.

"I don't think Thranduil will have a problem with the task of ruling a kingdom. At least, if that is the case, it is hidden from my eyes," he shrugged lightly, eyeing Azadeth without the warrior feeling tensed under the gaze. If anything, he felt at complete ease, and it was a new feeling for him. "I see many things, most of which I am not allowed to speak of. Yet, what I can tell is that I am more worried for the prince's own well-being than his kingdom's."

Azadeth felt his eyebrows creasing, and Glorfindel stepped closer, taking a deep breath. Once the blond dropped his glance, the warrior could tell what the other was looking at right away, but he didn't move. It was only his hand and the ring on it that started to itch and burn slightly, not at all in an unpleasant way.

This was the kind of burning he could've endured forever.

"A king has an eternal number of tools with which he can reach whatever he wants," Glorfindel started, the trace of the smile long gone from his face. Azadeth felt his heartbeat slightly picking up, but he held his breath to tame it. "His threats should concern you, Oiocuilë. Thranduil openly and foolishly declared war on him without counting on the consequences. Be the wiser in love and don't rush into your doom, mellon."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

The words were out of his mouth before he could've detained them, but all he received from Glorfindel was another kind smile and a hand on his shoulder. This touch wasn't as heavy as Oropher's, and the mere look in the blond's eyes gave away his good intentions.

Not like Azadeth had been doubting him even for a second.

"You have fought wars like these, but Thranduil hasn't. You see the pattern and you are afraid, aren't you?"

And Azadeth would have been a liar to deny it.

The moment he had laid his eyes on Thranduil on the previous evening, he felt his stomach twirling behind his belly. He had seen how Fëanor perished in front of his eyes, and he had to deal with the loss for long centuries that followed after. Those centuries became thousands upon thousands of years, those became aeons, and here he was again, terrified to do the same mistakes again. To let it end the same way.

To stand by, uncapable of doing anything to prevent the death of someone he loved.

The ease Glorfindel read him with was stunning, but Azadeth was way too upset to spend time thinking about that. Despite his words, Glorfindel seemed completely sure of the future, and he gently squeezed Azadeth's shoulder.

"Don't leave words unsaid and be very, very careful," Glorfindel said. "Not all paths of the future are set, and there is always a chance to change your direction. Be wise in your decisions, and no harm shall come to you, or to Thranduil."

Glorfindel kept his eyes on Azadeth for a few moments afterwards, placing warmth in the warrior's chest. Azadeth would have liked to thank him, to say how grateful he was for caring, and, even if he was to fall on that day, he knew Thranduil would have someone to look after him. One look of Glorfindel was enough to reassure him completely, and Azadeth felt the stinging tension in his stomach easing somewhat.

The blond removed his hand from Azadeth's shoulder then, stepping to the side and walking by him without any further comments. Azadeth was staring after him for a while, watching the blond disappear in the crowd of soldiers, the distant cries of his comrades falling echoing in his ears. His thirst was long gone, and, with the face of his prince lingering in front of his eyes, he grabbed the hilt of his sword.

This time, he wasn't killing for redemption.

  
The first face Thranduil saw when he woke was Oropher's.

The air felt thick and muggy around him, and there was a numb aching in his head that he couldn't dismiss. He slowly regained his composure as he sat up, the memories flowing freely in his mind. Not even his slightly raging heartbeat was blocking them from coming, and he felt like there was way too much information to digest just now.

 _Sauron._ Sauron's face was everywhere, only dimmer now than before. The song was ever present in his mind, more cunningly and more silently, though, and Thranduil closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. He didn't dream, and he was sleeping for countless hours now, ever since he was taken to this wretched tent. He couldn't sleep, and there was too much on his mind.

He really didn't need his father's empty expression on the top of that.

He was handed a cup with fresh water, and Thranduil took it. He fathomed his mother left it there, even though she was nowhere to be seen now. Thranduil drank the cup out, then, he gave it back to his father.

"Where is mother?"

He was almost surprised to hear how hoarse and weak his voice sounded, but he gave no sign of it. He just tried to avoid his father's gaze as much as he could, doing his best to keep himself indifferent.

"We must talk about something, iôn nín."

 _Iôn nín, huh? Another weak attempt to earn my forgiveness,_ Thranduil thought to himself with slight irritation. He almost laughed out loud when he recalled the moment his father hit him, ironically, on the same side as the Dark Lord's touch. Maybe he should've seen it coming after Oropher's rage.

The prince could tell that Oropher was the one who truly avoided eye contact, and it put an empty half-smile on his face. He could read nothing from the king's expression, nor from his eyes - Oropher was sitting on the bedroll, with dried orc-blood on his face, and he was still wearing his armours and weapons. He probably hadn't even been in his own tent since they returned from the battle.

 _Azadeth must be back, then, too,_ Thranduil thought, his chest tightening for a completely different reason that had to do more with excitement than with nervousness.

It was already a feeling worth waking up for, even if everything else felt sore and just... not right. In that moment, nothing felt right.

He rubbed the sleep out of his injury free eye with his hand, then, he gently ran his fingers over the fresh bandages on his face. He was slightly relieved that they were covered - he really didn't need his father's disgusted looks that he would've shot towards him. After all, his prince was not perfect anymore.

Thranduil shuddered just from remembering the sight of it, so he dismissed the thought swiftly. If he didn't think of it, it wasn't even there, after all.

He sighed deeply, pulling the covers closer around himself.

"If you came to talk about Azadeth-"

"I came to talk about him," Oropher cut him off gently, his words quiet and strangely calm. Thranduil didn't bother to notice the difference in his father's voice, though. It wasn't the way how Oropher usually spoke, but the prince ignored it and he laughed out weakly.

It hurt, but it nonetheless left a sarcastic expression on his face.

"Well, I haven't changed my mind," Thranduil shook his head. Something deep inside was bothering him about the way Oropher was looking at him, but he didn't care. He went on. "Where have you been when I encountered the Dark Lord and he burnt my face off, father? Have you come to see me ever since?"

Oropher took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second. "Thranduil-"

"You didn't care," Thranduil grinned, the pent up anger, bitterness and disappointment threatening to overcome him and burst out within mere moments. He didn't want to see his father now, nor in the near future. He wondered why the king couldn't understand. "Why should I care, then? Tell me one good reason why I should listen to you right now, father, and I might rethink my decision."

The king stared at his son for what felt like hours, and the concern on his face was so obvious by now that not even Thranduil could overlook it. His own disdainful expression slightly faded the longer he was looking at his father and his eyebrows slowly furrowed, but he didn't speak. He requested explanation without words. Then, Oropher reached towards him with his right hand, slowly opening his palm in front of the prince.

The moment Thranduil looked down, his breath was caught in his lungs.

In Oropher's hand was a ring, a perfect, shining, golden ring with the smoothest surface anyone had ever seen. It was a masterpiece, a perfect jewel and a very valuable one, not even a scratch ruining its beauty. Once upon a time, it used to belong to the Queen of the Woodland Realm, and it used to hang around her neck on a fine chain. She gave it to her son when he came of age, a relic to hold dear, a ring to remind him where he came from.

A gift of love.

A few weeks ago, Thranduil had passed it on to the person he decided to give his heart to. He was not sure if it was the right decision, but he did it anyway. The look in those eyes when the person received the ring was unforgettable, and all Thranduil was seeing in this moment was that pair of golden blue eyes, searching him, owning him, loving him. He looked at that ring now and he saw that face, the raven hair, the elegant, plush lips.

That ring was lying in Oropher's hand, and Thranduil swallowed hard.

"What is the meaning of this?"

He didn't recognise his own voice, he barely even heard it. His heart was beating way too loudly in his ear to hear anything besides it, and he felt his stomach curling into the size of the head of a pin.

Oropher's eyelids fluttered and he opened his lips hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure what to say.

"The Ringwraiths came out of nowhere," Oropher murmured quietly, never taking his eyes off his son, not even when Thranduil, painfully slowly, took the ring from him. His hand was firm as he held the small trinket, but Oropher could already see that he was falling apart. It was only a matter of time when the first shock would wear off, and Thranduil was well aware of that as well. He felt it coming. "He got too far from the troop, he was found too late. It was an injury we couldn't heal."

Thranduil looked up agonizingly slowly, his eyes empty, his pupils narrowed to a single dot. The only emotion the king could gradually discover in the blue irises was begging, begging for these words to be only a part of a cruel joke, a hoax, a lie. And yes, Thranduil was begging. He had never been the one to pray, he had never been as desperate as to address Eru Ilúvatar and all of the Valar in his prayers and ask them to take someone else. To turn back time and save him. To save both of them from this living hell.

Now, he did. And the longer he remained without the mercy he wished for, the more begging was replaced by wrath and anger, and it was all centred upon his father. The only person he could blame.

"I am sorry, iôn nín," Oropher whispered, his hand closing only now. Thranduil watched as he pulled his arm back, catching the sight of his fingers trembling before Oropher could've hidden it.

Then, silence fell on the tent. Terrible, tensed silence.

Minutes passed like this, staring at each other without a word. None of them had ever experienced such a moment before, and Oropher was the one to give in sooner. He stood to leave with hesitant movements, making his way towards the exit, his posture still proud and majestic, just as always. Thranduil watched him, never taking his eyes off him, not blinking even once. He didn't remember when did he start squeezing the ring in his fist, or ever standing up.

He just did.

Anyone else in his situation would have fallen, they wouldn't have made it to stay on their feet for longer than a second or two. Thranduil was not anyone else. He was dangerous in that very moment, he was full of hatred, and his mind was clouded by wrath.

He couldn't accept it. He didn't want to accept it. He couldn't believe this.

And he wasn't going to.

Once he heard his son rising from his bedroll, Oropher turned around swiftly. Thranduil didn't process the sight of fear in those eyes, those eyes that usually held disdain and disappointment. They were now filled with terrible fear and, for a split second, Thranduil could have sworn he had seen himself in his father's eyes. His reflection was hideous, blinded by fury, blinded by anger, and he saw flames. He saw flames everywhere.

Flames and the dead.

"You are lying."

Inside Thranduil, there was a storm. He had experienced storms like this before, he had known what they were capable of, but they were nothing compared to this. This storm was raging as hard as ever, and it pushed the air out of his lungs, filling his weak and powerless body with enough adrenaline to approach his father.

"You are a liar," the prince continued, his voice coming out more of a grunt than his usual voice. He lost control over his words a long time ago, he lost control over his mind, over his body. "You have always been."

Oropher turned to him with his entire body now, ready to stop his son if he was ought to. Thranduil knew it wouldn't be enough, and he took one more step closer, then another. There was only a few feet of a distance, and he fixed his eyes on his own reflection, the heat almost unbearable around him the closer he got.

He had forgotten who he was speaking to.

"You shouldn't leave the bed, Thranduil," Oropher managed to answer, trying his best to sound as confident as he could, as a frightened king could. He knew not that it only angered Thranduil more, seeing a king instead of his father, even now.

He couldn't accept that either.

"Why? I will die, too? You will have me killed as well?" The laughter came from deep down his throat, sounding almost like a cough, and he moved even closer. Every twitch of his face hurt, but it didn't stop him. If anything, it pushed him farther over the edge. "You killed him. He would never leave me. He is twice the Elf you could ever be!"

There was a lightning in Oropher's eyes, a spark that meant no good, but Thranduil didn't care. He saw nothing but flames by now, and he felt like melting, the taste of his own tears irony and salty on his tongue. They were burning, too.

He didn't even realise he was shouting.

"You must calm down."

It was Oropher's turn to move now, mustering up his strength and approaching his son. One touch on Thranduil's arm was enough for the prince to tear himself out of it and reach for the king's sword, ready to put Oropher on the end of the blade, but the king hadn't lost his composure completely. He backed out of the movement of Thranduil's arm and he stepped towards the inside of the tent, looking for anything to calm his son with.

It was way too late for that now, and Thranduil was screaming. He couldn't tell if it was still because of Oropher, or more because of the pain.

Everything was blurred, everything was burning. He was deafened by the song, a terrible and chaotic song that consisted of people screaming, begging for clemency. The flames got under his skin and poisoned him, they tore him apart and put him back together. That pure evil sang the song of temptation in his mind until he grew deaf, he burnt Thranduil until he was ash, he destroyed him until he was in ruins. He was falling to the ground and, when he landed, he was himself again.

The warmth pulled him back to reality, a familiar warmth, yet, now so unfamiliar and strange. A steady beat of a heart in his ear silenced the evil's song, it reminded him of his own heartbeat, it told him to breathe. His face was held against the soft material of someone dear to his heart, a scent he loved so much filled his lungs and he breathed in, his eyesight slowly clearing.

When he was rid of the ghosts and the flames, he heard himself sobbing. He was holding onto his mother, both of them kneeling on the floor, guards surrounding them. His fingers were clawing into Aerithil's clothes, her skin, her flesh, and she held him against her breast, rocking him back and forth, letting him cry.

"Let it all out, aerlinn nín, let it out," she whispered, their mother tongue sweet balm on his worn out soul and broken heart. Her breath was lost in his golden locks, and she kept murmuring to him, words that soon lost their meaning in the prince's mind and, doing what he was told, he cried.

He cried until he had forgotten how to stop.

  
"Here."

Elrond closed the wooden box he placed on the table, wiping his hands with a cloth. He put his hand on the top of the box, looking into the mirror in front of him. Thranduil was doing the same, staring at his own reflection with cold eyes. Half of his face was covered in the white ointment that Elrond just applied, and the Lord of Rivendell gave him a small smile.

"We are ready, Your Highness."

Thranduil shivered slightly at the form of address. His eyes closed for a moment, then, he opened them again and nodded once. He spoke not, though, not until Elrond was halfway out of the tent and he was forced to stop and turn around.

"Maglor."

The black haired Half-Elf furrowed his eyebrows, holding the box against his stomach with both hands. Thranduil saw his fingertips whitening for a split second, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

He raised his gaze back to Elrond's face.

"Does it still hurt... losing him?"

The usually sharp and serious lines on Elrond's face now softened, the look in his eyes changing from confused to an overly human emotion that Thranduil couldn't put his finger on. Suddenly he felt childish, asking about things like that from someone he barely knew. He felt downright stupid, and the bitter smile on his face came almost automatically.

"Forgive me," he breathed, turning back to the mirror and looking at himself instead. His face wasn't bandaged anymore, his scars free for anyone to see, and his only hope now was Elrond's healing ointment, nothing else. He saw the Half-Elf's face in the mirror next to his own, but he kept looking at himself, as if he was a child who had been scolded.

He was his own parent now, anyway. He had to scold himself. There would be no one else to do it anymore.

"The pain will never be fully gone, King Thranduil," Elrond said quietly. Thranduil felt how he tried to catch his glance through their reflections, but he didn't move. He didn't even blink. He just listened in absolute silence. "Losing a father is a heavy burden, so is taking his place and ruling a kingdom. Losing a friend dearest to your heart on the top of that... I cannot imagine what you must feel."

Thranduil blinked once, then, he swallowed. His throat felt too narrow, and the lump way too big to fit inside. Days came and days went on, and no matter how many times he swallowed, the lump was there.

Ever present, seemingly for the rest of his life.

"Your people need you, and the Lady Írwen is waiting for you at home. You cannot lose hope now, Thranduil. Your father wouldn't like you to, and neither would Azadeth."

Again, he swallowed. He blinked away the tears, but he couldn't force the lump down. If anything, it only grew greater at the mention of that name.

A name he would never utter again.

He watched the Lord Elrond go, the tent closing behind him. Thranduil was alone again, only the Valar knew for how long exactly. The next time he turned around, a soldier named Rwryan was calling out his name and he turned from the mirror. His face was flawless, and he blinked.

"We are ready to leave, Your Highness."

Thranduil nodded, and Rwryan watched him for a few more moments before he left. Then, the King swallowed, and he pushed the mirror to the ground before leaving the tent.

The mirror crashed and broke into tiny pieces, the wind picking up the sound of it shattering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so, so sorry. I don't even want to talk about it in details, it is just too painful and I don't want to give away anything.
> 
> On other news, I finished the fanfiction. The last two chapters are on my computer, waiting to be uploaded very soon, and I am very excited on what you will think. I am working on the oneshot compilation that I'm going to put together from both _Don't Go Where I Can't Follow_ and _King and Lionheart_ , it's going to kinda "wrap up" this two stories, making it some kind of a trilogy I guess. I'm so excited about it, and I really hope you are going to like it.
> 
> I will probably make a loads of things to make this fic have more readers, like, I will use my video-making skill and I will probably make pretty gifsets and whatnot. I do think that this fic needs to be read by more people, people who love Thranduil and would like to read about his past. I spent so much time working on this (since August, holy shit), the least I can do is make it reach more people. c: If you have any ideas, just shoot me. ;)
> 
> Also, I highly recommend everyone to read _Don't Go Where I Can't Follow_ \- there will be a special guest from that fic in this one in the next chapter, and I will allude to that fic in the upcoming chapters quite a lot. It's not necessary, but I advise it. c:
> 
> Brace yourselves for more, lovelies. It is not the end just yet. ;)


	14. Black Clouds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Horror and gore** might appear, be careful if you are triggered by these.
> 
> Many, many references to _Don't Go Where I Can't Follow_ (Thorin/Bilbo, Legolas/Kíli) - if you would like to read that work, I don't recommend you reading this chapter because it contains major spoilers for that work. Finish that fic first! c:

_A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!_  
 _silivren penna míriel_  
 _o menel aglar elenath,_  
 _Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!_

Elegant, slender fingers ran through the golden locks of a child, and the song continued echoing through the halls. It was a room brightly lit by candles, with a massive table placed in the middle of it, chairs empty around it. Only an Elf with sparkling, blonde hair and the child in her lap were occupying the room, and she sang, she sang on a voice that would have mesmerized anyone.

That fidgeting little elfling wasn't an exception.

It seemed that he found it extremely hard to stay at one place, yet, he didn't escape his mother's hold. She was braiding his hair, the locks almost floating between her fingers as she moved her way through them with care and routine. Even when she accidentally pulled at them, her ring getting caught in the abundance of hair more than once, he didn't say a word. Whenever that happened, she pressed a kiss on the top of his head, then, she returned to her work, starting the song all over again. And he listened to her, as if she was casting a spell on him. Maybe she did, he couldn't tell.

He was three years old, dressed like a green leaf. And he was fidgeting - all the time.

He waited patiently until his mother finished the song for the umpteenth time before speaking up.

"Nana, can I ask you something?"

She laughed gently, tickling the elfling's neck with the tip of her fingers. He squirmed and giggled, pulling up his little knees and shoulders in defense, as if he was about to curl up in her lap.

"Your braids are not yet finished, Legolas."

"I didn't want to ask about that, nana," he moaned, staring up at Írwen upside down as he leaned his head backwards completely. She sighed deeply, an amused smile ever present on her face and she tilted her head.

"Enlighten me, then, little Greenleaf."

He seemed utterly satisfied, and he pouted his lips, rocking back and forth slightly while he was trying to collect his thoughts. She loved his thinking face the most, the way those smart eyebrows slightly furrowed and the wrinkles on his nose appeared. He was the most beautiful child one could ever ask for, and she couldn't stop smiling whenever she looked at him.

"Why is it that ada is crying so often?" he asked innocently, a layer of sadness almost palpable in his voice. Írwen froze for a second, her hands unmoving at the ends of his locks, but he kept looking at her in the same fashion. "Is he hurt? I always cry when I am hurt and he tells me not to. But he is crying too. Why is ada always crying, nana?"

Írwen felt like her breath was caught in her lungs for a second, her eyes slightly wider with shock. Legolas seemed so oblivious, so honestly worried and curious, it broke her heart to see that look in his eyes.

When she looked at him, she often saw Thranduil in those blue eyes and golden hair. She remembered how the King was when they met for the first time, those days they spent together in a world now long gone. These were only memories, yet, they seemed to live inside Legolas, and it seemed Legolas was born out of them.

Thranduil had always been so careful, making sure Legolas would not see him in his weak moments. Írwen had known it well, she understood. Thranduil knew he couldn't let Legolas see him like that, he couldn't risk involving Legolas in any of his business. He often seemed troubled, even when Írwen was by his side, whenever he seemed to be falling apart, and he preferred staying alone - at least, that is what he said. Írwen was not a fool, though, and she could tell that the exact opposite was the real truth. She recognised Thranduil's true feelings once he held onto her like she was the last permanent thing that wasn't melting away, that he didn't melt with his ever present flames.

So she didn't believe him, and she always stayed by his side.

He touched Legolas only rarely lately, afraid of burning him, but it didn't stop Legolas from sneaking into their room at night and nesting himself between the two of them during the stormy hours of darkness. When she woke in the morning, Thranduil was holding him while they both slept, and she tried to remember those moments more than the ones Legolas was talking about.

 _He was ought to find it out one day_ , she thought to herself, forcing her hands to move again. _He is way too smart not to see it._

She continued braiding in silence, trying to think of an acceptable response. She went with the first thing that came to her.

"Do you know how many trees are in the woods around us, Legolas?"

Her question was quite unexpected, but he stopped fidgeting at last, seriously thinking of an answer. She was waiting with a curious half-smile on her face (the other half of the smile was pure sadness but, luckily, Legolas couldn't see that.) It took him a few minutes before he could come up with something.

"A lot?"

Írwen laughed lightly, running her finger over the braid that started from Legolas' right temple, and she gently caressed the edge of his ear as well, sending goosebumps all over his little body. He turned back curiously, waiting for an answer, and Írwen nodded with a smile, placing Legolas in her lap so he could face her properly - she was finished with the braiding anyway.

"Thousands upon thousands, little Greenleaf," she murmured, and his lips slightly parted in wonder. "They are lithe and tall and strong, beeches and oaks and maple trees, they are beautiful, and they are eternal."

"Like Elves?" The sparkle in his eyes brought back memories yet again, and Írwen nodded.

"Kings, just like your father, live in woods and they need beautiful trees to be great rulers. Whenever a king cries and a teardrop falls from their eyes, a tree raises from the ground somewhere around the kingdom and it grows lithe, tall and strong, just like an Elf."

This answer seemed to please and confuse Legolas even more than before, and the wrinkles on his nose grew deeper, more worried with every second.

"But it is painful to grow trees, that is why ada cries, doesn't he, nana?" Legolas raised his eyebrows, and Írwen blinked at him with surprise. "So why can't someone else cry for trees to grow? There are cooks and servants and soldiers, so can't there be someone to cry when ada wants to grow trees? Can't I do it instead of him?"

Írwen had felt her heart jump into her throat, tears stinging her eyes from the inside. He was his father's son, so smart, so kind, so pure, and the mere thought of darkness lingering so close to this unspoiled elfling was planting a knot in her stomach. She dismissed the thought quickly, though, and she took Legolas' little hands in her own, smiling down at him with the most loving smile a mother could give to her child.

"Your task now is to look out for your braids and to not ruin them while playing," she stroke his cheek gingerly. "You must grow and learn many new interesting things. You cannot take the burden from your father's shoulders, but you can help him by doing what you are meant to do now and becoming a great king when your time comes."

This was a response that most certainly satisfied the prince and he grinned, a soft chuckle escaping him as his small hands got lost in his mother's bigger ones. He fingered the lines on her palm with tiny fingertips, then, he pressed a kiss inside Írwen's hand and let her tickle him again.

He was laughing too hard to notice his father enter the hall. Thranduil looked calm and collected, even a little bit surprised at the sight that welcomed him, and Legolas only looked up when Írwen poked his side to make him turn around. He breathed in sharply, immediately escaping his mother's hold and landing on the ground clumsily. Írwen had watched him running towards his father, Thranduil following the movements of his son with curious eyes.

"Ada, ada! I will grow big like a tree and you won't have to be sad anymore!"

Thranduil's face immediately reflected his confusion and, letting Legolas pulling at his robes, the king looked up to Írwen. She was smiling gently, not saying even a word to explain, and Thranduil's confusion wasn't resolved.

"Calm down and give me an explanation, I am apparently too old to understand," he moaned dramatically while squatting so he could be on the same level as the elfling.

Legolas was way too excited to calm down even a bit and, once Thranduil was on an ideal height, he immediately jumped into his father's arms, hugging him with his tiny arms tight around the king's neck. Thranduil nearly fell back from surprise and the loss of balance, looking at Írwen again, but her face was still the same.

Smiling, staring at them intensely as if it could be the last moment she would ever see them like this.

"All your trees are beautiful, ada, so don't be sad, hm?"

Legolas buried his tiny face in Thranduil's neck, holding onto his hair lightly, and Thranduil felt his heartbeat quickening in his chest.

He couldn't quite understand why Írwen was suddenly crying.

He just hugged Legolas back, and held him there for long minutes afterwards, in absolute silence.

  
"Did you wish to see me, Your Highness?"

Thranduil felt like he just woke from a dream, raising his head a little once he heard his advisor's voice from beside him. Durion was as suave as ever, his eyes wide and curiously searching Thranduil, always standing a little bit closer than what would have been comfortable. The king never mentioned it, though, he just signed with a quick glance that Durion never caught. Obviously.

He let out a troubled, deep sigh, clearing his throat shortly before folding his arms in front of his chest. The long robes made it slightly difficult, but he managed anyway.

"Could you find anything about her?"

Durion finally removed his eyes from the king, following Thranduil's glance inside the room in front of they were standing. Inside two children were playing, one of them not really a child anymore, while the other, the girl with the fire-red hair, still being young and untroubled in their game. Legolas insisted that he would take care of the girl he found in the woods a few days earlier, and, for some unexplainable reason, Thranduil allowed him. Maybe this decision would stab him in the back later but, right now, he couldn't afford to care. He would've done anything for Legolas, and if this was his wish, then so be it.

As long as there was a smile on his face, Thranduil was content.

"Unfortunately, there was nothing I could find, Your Highness," Durion murmured, his eyes still fixed on the children. Thranduil blinked. "Lost children are common in times like these, we know not where they come from. Some have escaped the wrath of the Dark Lord and they couldn't find their way back, some were lost even before the war had come. Poor things they are, but I don't think we should house each that we find in the ha-"

"I only asked if you learned anything new, Durion," Thranduil cut him off, his voice dry and cold, otherwise, it was completely indifferent. He learned how to hide his irritation, and he was working on using that knowledge every day. "You may leave now."

Durion was dumbfounded for a moment, apparently not expecting such reaction from Thranduil, yet, he didn't have to be told twice. The king waited until the advisor left, then, and only then did he decide to call for someone that was actually capable of doing something productive. One look was enough to sign that he wished to talk, and the only adult inside the room nodded, giving his orders for the guards at the doorway to watch over the playing children. They did what they were told, and the black haired Elf, young, tall and graceful followed Thranduil to his chambers.

The king was just sitting down at his table when the dark haired Elf entered the room, closing the door behind him on the sign of Thranduil. It was not an unusual procedure, and the younger Elf walked across the room, stopping right in front of the table and glancing down at his lord. Thranduil was already running through parchments with his fingers, as if he was looking for work to be done.

"Did the girl say anything?" Thranduil asked quietly, not even sparing one look at the dark haired Elf standing in front of him. The other seemed to be used to this, and he simply fixed his gaze on the table, his hands clasped behind his back.

"She told the Prince that she was an orphan," the Elf said. "The Prince is the only one she seems to open up to. I fathom it is because of the friendliness and the smaller age-gap."

"It must be," Thranduil agreed, dipping his quill in the ink carefully. "I would like you to find a spare room in the halls, buy her clothes and books, belongings she would find useful for studying. Also, she must start studying with Legolas as soon as she can, after a decent amount of time of course, during which she can befriend this place, get used to living here."

He looked up, then, his face serious, the lines on his face sharp and meaningful.

"I entrust you with this, Rwryan." His voice was calm and low, and Rwryan bowed deeply, his dark locks falling forward. Once he straightened, Thranduil was back in his parchments, his runes scraping against the paper, and Rwryan turned around.

He knew his lord was not a fool.

From the first moment Thranduil asked him to be his closest counselor, they seemed to move comfortably on the common ground. They understood each other from half-words, pointed looks and mere movements of the hand, and Rwryan could've read Thranduil's mind and feelings with one simple look. He might have been younger, but he was sharp and he cared.

He cared maybe a bit too much. And Rwryan knew it perfectly well.

When someone is on your mind for days, weeks and months, they eventually grow into years, and these years will grow into decades. And Rwryan had known exactly how that felt.

Whenever Thranduil had read him as well, Rwryan had wondered if his love was so obvious, and his lord was only pitying him. Then, when these thoughts occured to him, he mentally scolded himself for thinking such thing of the king and he pushed the feelings down, returning to be a servant again. Yet, Thranduil read him over and over again, the blond knew when he was holding back information, when he was unhappy with something, and he asked him out on the matter.

This exact situation happened yet again. Rwryan had stopped moving towards the door even before Thranduil spoke up, but he didn't turn around.

"You find it strange, don't you?" Thranduil's voice was almost conversational, slightly higher pitched than usually, and Rwryan hid a small smile that almost broke through the surface of his seriousness. "Why would the King of the Woodland Realm take in a sad, lonely orphan and raise her like his own?"

Only that much could Rwryan hold back and he finally bowed his head a little, smiling to himself. How came that the tone of the king could change so swiftly, he did not know, but he would've lied had he said he didn't prefer these moments over the cold and indifferent ones. He remembered the better times, and he saw them coming back whenever Thranduil spoke to him like this. It filled him with some strange, nostalgic musing, and it was a pleasant feeling.

He turned around slowly, only to feel the expectant glance of the Elvenking upon himself, and Rwryan sighed.

"Do you wish to hear my opinion, My Lord?"

Thranduil gave him a smile, one that, strangely, was not a fake one. It put wrinkles in the corners of the king's eyes, and the sight made Rwryan's chest tighten for a moment. He put that smile there, and it was a magical feeling he valued over anything.

"You are the part of a past long lost, you are one of the two in these halls who had known me for the longest and, somehow, you managed to stay," Thranduil leaned back on his chair, tilting his head a little. "Of course I wish to hear what you have to say."

Rwryan swallowed hard, trying to keep his breathing even. It was more and more difficult with every second, but he concentrated on his thoughts instead, trying to collect them and put them in the right order.

"Aren't you afraid that the Prince will wish to turn this blossoming friendship into something more when the time comes, My Lord?" He wasn't sure if he managed to put his words the right way and avoid insulting the king, but Thranduil's smile was ever present on his lips, and that must have meant something good, for sure.

Rwryan hoped so.

"The girl is a Wood-elf, after all," Thranduil sighed, and Rwryan couldn't unsee how amused he seemed. He wondered if the situation or his words were so entertaining for the king, but he fathomed he would find out very soon.

"Legolas had just recently lost his mother. Something important is gone from his life, something I can't replace, no matter how great my kingdom is and how many gems are in my treasure room," Thranduil started, his glance lost in Rwryan's eyes. The black haired Elf stood and listened, absentmindedly attempting to tame his quickening heart. "He found a friend in that girl, he found what he could use to deal with the loss and the pain. Many might expect me to take that from him, but you know it just as well as I do that I won't do that."

Rwryan thought of the Elf that broke mirrors, that tended to his own bruised face and woke from his restless dreams, screaming, in the middle of the night. He thought of that Elf, and then, he drank in the sight of the Elf now sitting in front of him. The two Elves were the same, yet, both Rwryan and Thranduil had known that they were two different people.

And it stunned the dark haired Elf completely, to the point where he just stood without a word. Thranduil smiled at him.

"And, on the matter of the marriage," Thranduil sighed, reaching for his quill, but he just played with it between his fingers, his eyes still fixed on Rwryan. "If he wishes to marry that girl in the future, I will let him. No one should marry someone whom they don't love, after all."

Thranduil was still smiling, but it was another moment when Rwryan had simply known him better than to believe him. He said nothing, though, he just bowed once again, ignoring the slight bitterness in his heart. Looking at his king again, he saw him being deep in his thoughts - his words stopped Rwryan from leaving again.

"Did the girl tell Legolas her name?"

Rwryan was thinking for a moment before, one hand on the door's handle, he turned and shook his head.

"No. They call each other mellon, I suppose."

Thranduil wondered for a few more seconds before he nodded, not even following his movements with his eyes as he dipped his quill in the ink again.

"From now on, her name is Tauriel." He looked up from behind his lashes, something strange sparkling in his eyes, and he slighty raised one eyebrow at the black haired Elf. "You may leave now, Rwryan."

And Rwryan, after smiling softly at his lord, finally left the room.

Maybe he could deal with his raging heartbeat now.

  
The wine was no longer sweet in Thranduil's mouth. It was poisonous, bitter, disgusting - just like him. He kept drinking and he thought to himself how he hated it. Then, the servant poured some more and he drank it out again.

"More," he sighed, his tone troubled, and he leaned back on his chair. The servant came back, pouring again, glance fixed on the ground.

Thranduil saw veiled judgement, but he spoke not of it. He was used to being the subject of fear around the halls.

"Are not you afraid of getting drunk, mellon?" Celeborn's voice sounded in his head, the smile he had so often given Thranduil back in their youth lingering in front of the Elvenking's eyes. He sipped from the cup and swallowed. This is why they feared him.

_It wouldn't make any difference, had I been drunk or sober._

"He is right," the words of a female were echoing in his head this time, and Thranduil felt a bitter smile tugging at his lips. Here she was. "Your mother would be stunned to see you stumbling on your feet on the way to your room."

_It won't hurt her if she doesn't learn about it._

He had no idea why he was talking like a child, a green elfling, but he did and he sipped from his wine again. It felt warm and it numbed the pain, silenced the song. That wretched, never ceasing song, that chaos inside his head.

Galadriel didn't speak anymore, and Thranduil raised his chin. The people around him were enjoying themselves, feasting, dancing and singing. Girls and children, Elves he knew, yet, he couldn't place them. He didn't even try.

He didn't really care.

"It is the question of determination, Thranduil," were Glorfindel's words and Thranduil dropped his glance. He stared at the food completely untouched in front of him. Meat, lembas and vegetables, the same he returned to the kitchens without tasting every day. "Are you ready to disappoint her?"

"Like you disappointed me?"

The food was suddenly moving on his plate and he blinked, staring into _a single open eye_ that was watching him from his plate. The air foamed around it, then, it started burning and Thranduil fought for his breath, suddenly feeling a drop of sweat rolling down on his spine. He raised his head, the pleasant song his subjects danced to filling his mind. He cleared his throat, drinking out his cup.

The song of chaos seemed to stop for a moment. Maybe an answer in the imaginary conversation was expected, but Thranduil ignored his father's last remark. As if it was revenge for being ignorant, the song restarted and Thranduil closed his eyes for a second, rising from his seat.

"Had your parents never taught you that one should excuse himself from the table when leaving?" Gil-galad sounded irritated and Thranduil pulled his robes closer around himself as if he was suddenly touched by cold. His eyes were fixed on the floor, shadows falling into the abyss he was walking on the edge of.

_Leave me alone._

The song followed him, but there were no footsteps. Who would follow him besides the demons he lived with every day? He expected no one, yet, he expected anyone. He told himself so many times that being alone was better for him that he couldn't even remember when exactly did he start believing it.

His room was upstairs and he climbed the stairs with heavy breaths weighing his chest. He felt exhausted after three steps but he kept climbing, the wine twirling in his stomach like the ground was spinning him around.

He touched the wall, looking for something to hold onto, and it burnt him. He knew it would leave him with scars.

"You were not quick enough," Aerithil shook her head and Thranduil stumbled, his palms bruised by the sharp pebbles on the ground. He winced and closed his eyes. There was pain in his knees. "I see what you have done to yourself, Thranduil. Drinking wine? A prince does not get drunk during feasts. Let alone a king."

_Just go away!_

Thranduil straightened and pressed his back against the wall. He was battling for every ounce of breath he could take, the cool of his clothes keeping him sane for a moment longer. He already saw his room from this angle, but his knees were dangerously weak. Assuming that he could make it over there and do what he had always done whenever this happened, hiding behind closed doors, was not an option now.

He didn't dare hope anymore. It was harder and harder each time, and he had never felt this powerless before. His head pulled him down and he stared at the ground, eyes blurred and lips completely dry.

"I just saw him, entering your room."

Lindir was suddenly standing next to him, leaning forwards to catch a glimpse of Thranduil's face behind the curtain of golden locks. He spoke inside the Elvenking's mind, but Thranduil could see him and it was the most vivid hallucination so far. He had to remind himself that none of this was real.

He was ought to. No one would really come and talk to him here and now, would they? They never did, so why now? What was different this time?

Maybe he was madder. Probably. Most likely.

"Black hair, blue eyes, dark clothes... It is him, isn't it?"

Thranduil swallowed dryly and it hurt, not nearly as much as his heart, though. The sweat rolling down his temples and into his eyes blinded him and he felt like shaking, his mind bringing in the picture of said person immediately.

It was a picture he could never forget, after all. And, apparently, he was in the king's room now.

_You are not real. You are lying._

"Why, of course I am telling the truth," Lindir straightened and Thranduil turned his face to look at him. The majordomo was pouting his lips, folding his arms in front of his chest like an offended child. Thranduil shivered, leaning on his knees to hold himself somehow. It felt like the corridor wasn't wide enough to suffer him. "Surely, you can turn around and go back to the feast if that is what you want. But someone is in your room right now, waiting for you, and this is an opportunity that you might not be offered twice in a row, my Lord."

Thranduil pressed his lips together. He wanted to tell him to shut up, to go away, to stop bothering him, but his heart was pounding too fast and he was fading swiftly. He wanted to speak but Lindir was gone, and, in the next moment, Thranduil was grabbing the handle of the door to his room.

It burnt his palm and he pushed the door in.

The first thing he came to realise that it was not his room. It was a strange, odd room with little to no furniture, only candles everywhere he looked. The smell of wax filled his lungs and he took a deep breath, attempting to keep his mind clear. When he heard the door closing behind him and he turned around, he realised the second thing: the exit was gone. There was no door behind him anymore and he let his lips part in wonder before he turned around again, trying to find sense in this senseless moment.

Seeing Azadeth standing in front of him was not something he expected to encounter.

_Black hair, blue eyes, dark clothes... It is him, isn't it?_

It was an image clearer than ever before. He had seen this Elf every single day since the Great Wars, he had seen him coming back from the death and chasing away the misery that kept following the king everywhere he went. He couldn't escape it all alone, and Azadeth had helped him, his one touch was strong enough to heal that Thranduil couldn't. That no one could. Not Írwen, not Legolas, no one.

He had never been so clear before, though. Every eyelash, every movement of his face was there, in an arm-length, and Thranduil breathed in slowly. Could it be? Should he believe his eyes, should he let himself believe after so long? Was he still able to believe?

"Aren't you going to touch him?" Írwen touched his shoulder gently, smiling up at Thranduil expectantly. Azadeth was watching them, a small smile lingering on his face, and the Lady gently pushed at Thranduil, making him move closer. Thranduil felt like he was pulled down by a hundred bricks, and, the closer he got, the more afraid he was. Írwen laughed behind him. "You will never change, will you?"

The king hesitated for a second longer, gently looking behind over his shoulder. For the Valar, she was more beautiful than ever, and what was she now? Merely a hallucination, a memory, a ghost. Thranduil swallowed, turning back to look at Azadeth.

_How can I be sure you are real? How could I ever be sure you will not disappear like the others?_

Azadeth's smile widened, but only Thranduil's eyes could catch the change. He moved without the king noticing, and it only took one touch for Thranduil to sigh loudly, to lean against that hand and let his eyes flutter closed. The touch was warm, so familiar, yet, so strange, and he suddenly felt so utterly alone that it pushed his tears over the edges. He was crying soundlessly and Azadeth wiped the tears with his thumb, cupping the king's face with both hands now.

He didn't want to wake up. If this was a dream, if this was only a mirage, he wanted to linger in it for longer. He didn't want to wake up, and he grabbed those hands with his own, pulling one of them to his lips, a muffled sob escaping him. The touch, the smell, everything was painfully real, maybe too real.

Dead people couldn't come back, could they? Why else would everyone call them the dead?

He could hear that smile, he could taste the sunshine on that skin, then, he heard the voice and he shivered.

"Look at me, Thranduil."

The sound was low and pleasant, radiating love and Thranduil breathed in. The touch on his cheeks was warm, warmer with every second, and the blond's chest tightened. He chanted the mantra in his head, the mantra how he wished not to wake up now, nor ever in the future, then, he opened his eyes slowly.

His stomach dropped and his eyes widened slightly in fear.

It was not Azadeth anymore. And the touch wasn't simply warm now - it was burning, burning like hell, and Thranduil jerked out of it, losing his balance and falling on his back, the floor bruising him.

He was facing Sauron, and the flames were swallowing him. They were swallowing them both, and only now did Thranduil realise that the song returned. It tore down the room around him, burnt his skin and corrupted his mind, clawing into him until he screamed and threw the first thing that he found.

_Candles._

Sauron endured them all, he watched as his robes caught the flames and he laughed, bringing down the walls. Thranduil felt his own fingers digging into his face, the blood pouring from his scars now colouring his hands in scarlet, and he screamed again, pressing his back against the last wall that was still standing.

The room was in ruins, he was in ruins. The whole world... it was in ruins. Smoke and fire, that was all he saw, the taste of his own blood twisting his insides and making him heave in complete disgust. He wished he could just burn, he wished he wouldn't be remade everytime he fell to pieces. He wished he was allowed to die, and he climbed towards the flames, the heat tempting him and pushing him away at the same time. The Dark Lord watched him, grabbing his chin and raising him by the jaw, the king's legs hanging in the air.

He didn't even try to escape the choking hold. He just... endured.

His own flesh and blood was underneath his fingernails when he landed on the floor, bruised and deafened from the deathly aria of the shadows. He tasted his own tears on his dry lips and he sobbed, reaching for something to hold onto, lying on the cold floor.

Eventually, he felt two gentle hands that picked him up and carried him to safety. He could not recognise the touch at first, only when he felt the warmth of his own bed around him, the blankets and pillows embracing him and soothing him. The voice murmured in his ear, the voice that managed to pick him up whenever he fell.

It was Legolas, and Thranduil let out a quiet sob, his face aching painfully.

He was deceived yet again. It was not Azadeth, and it could never be him. Because the dead never came back.

No matter what.

  
"You seem worried tonight, ghivashel."

The soft voice that came from beside him awakened Legolas from his thoughts and, slightly surprised, he glanced down at Kíli. The Dwarf was eyeing him with concern in his hazel eyes, the corner of his mouth dimly coloured with ale, and the Elf found himself smiling gently.

 _Typical Kíli,_ he thought to himself, reaching out to wipe the ale from his beard. It might've been only the trick of the lights in the room, but Kíli seemed to blush somewhat once he realised what Legolas had done, and he tore his glance from the blond, staring at his plate instead.

"I cannot be worried next to you, Kíli." Even Legolas was surprised sometimes how delicately he spoke to Kíli, but it felt right. These were words he would've said to no one else, these feelings filled his chest only when he was next to the Dwarf. And, even though what he said was not quite true, his feelings were honest and that was all that mattered.

Kíli knew that perfectly well, too.

"I know you are worried about your father," Kíli pouted his lips slightly, seriousness written all over his face. Legolas' smile slowly faded, but he didn't take his eyes off the Dwarf. "And I know exactly why, but I cannot help you. I do not know how to help, and it frustrates me."

All around them was joy and celebration, the newly coronated King singing and dancing with his friends and comrades, his subjects. There was a family around him, they were joyous and untroubled, enjoying their peace and contentment that they suffered for so far. Yet, the ghost of guilt immediately jumped on Legolas once he realised that Kíli could not join this celebration because of him, and the blond Elf swallowed hard.

Maybe his father was right to stay in Mirkwood. Maybe Legolas should have stayed as well. Maybe he had no place here, maybe he didn't belong here. Was he already captured by that darkness too? Was he so afraid to be happy after so long? Because this is what his father sent him here for, to be happy. Yet, Legolas couldn't seem to be able to accept his chance.

He felt bad. And he felt guilty.

"I know what is on your mind and no, you are not allowed to leave this table, not now, not ever," Kíli shook his head rapidly, grabbing Legolas' wrist in a rush. The blond watched with slight surprise, raising his brows once the Dwarf looked up at him, determination shining brightly in his eyes. For the Valar, Legolas had loved those eyes. "I might not be able to help, but I will sure as hell listen, so put aside your stupid Elvish pride and talk to me."

Kíli jumped to his feet so suddenly that Legolas almost fell back on his chair, but he managed to catch up with him clumsily. The Dwarf led him through the entire hall, taking everyone off their legs as he passed them by, and he didn't stop until they were in the Throne Hall of Erebor, a room that was completely empty, save for them. The cool air of the late summer evening filled the room from the direction of the balcony, and the Moon and the stars were shining brightly upon them, casting a silvery light on the marble floor and the columns.

Legolas felt like he could breathe again, and Kíli, after a moment of hesitation, let go of his wrist. It was a vague movement, as if the Dwarf wasn't entirely sure of the situation, but Legolas smiled down at him and Kíli seemed to ease.

Maybe talking would really help. Maybe talking to Kíli would lighten those burdens on his shoulder. At least, Legolas was truly hoping for this.

"I'm listening," Kíli sighed, as if he was out of breath for a moment, and Legolas decided he would try. Mere trying couldn't hurt, could it?

He breathed in and glanced down at the Dwarf.

"My father hasn't been the same for a while now," Legolas started. He walked across the hall, slowly approaching the balcony, then, he stared up at the stars, well aware of Kíli following his movements and joining him under the silver light. "My mother died when I was little, and I assume father just couldn't endure her loss.

"He had been solitary ever since, he pushed me away, he started drinking. Whenever the darkness upon the lands started to stir, he got worse and worse, up to the point where I could not see my father in him, only a broken shell of someone I once knew."

Legolas stopped for a moment, his eyes falling closed. That sight, his father screaming and nearly setting himself on fire each time Legolas would find him, burnt itself into his mind and never seemed to leave him, never seemed to fade. He wanted to forget, more than anything. He wanted his father to forget, to get better. Legolas put him in bed each time, he waited until Thranduil fell asleep, he tried to keep the darkness away.

One careless moment and everything the prince had built up, fell apart. Thranduil destroyed himself, a little bit more with every day - and Legolas couldn't help. He could not bear it anymore.

Especially not after he himself was hurt as well.

"Uncle said that your father was touched by the darkness," Kíli murmured lowly, his words so careful and quiet that they were almost lost in the depths of the hall. Legolas opened his eyes to look at the sky again, but this time his eyes were fixed on the distance instead, the silhouettes of Mirkwood unfolding in the darkness. There was a stinging pain in his chest, and he swallowed. "Is it true?"

He was fairly young when he first saw his father's true face. His mother would have never allowed him to steal a look, she would have kept and protected him from it, but Legolas had never been the kind of child who could have been told what to do. After her death, it was by mere accident that he saw Thranduil sitting in front of his mirror, staring at himself before he abruptly jumped to his feet and swept the mirror off the table. Legolas' heart was beating in his throat when the mirror broke to pieces on the floor and he was frozen to that very spot, unable to take his eyes off his father's bruised, rotten face. His perfection was nowhere to be found in that moment, he was heaving and he collapsed in his seat, his whole body shaking from fury and despair.

Legolas didn't know how much longer he would've been standing there had Rwryan not found him and placed a hand on his shoulder. The black haired Elf didn't say a word, he just led Legolas away in silence and seated him on his lap, comforting him while the prince cried. He couldn't look at his father for weeks afterwards.

It was a moment he would never forget, Legolas knew that ever since. Thranduil was not simply touched by darkness, and all of his subjects had known that. It got under his skin, it poisoned him, it maddened him. There were times when it was better, but Thranduil remained sad and broken nonetheless, for a reason that, Legolas fathomed, was completely different and unknown for the prince. Thranduil was darkness itself. And Legolas was the only one keeping him at his senses.

"I know that something else is poisoning him besides Sauron, but no one is willing to talk about it," Legolas murmured, glancing down at Kíli. The Dwarf was watching him with sympathetic eyes, and Legolas breathed in deeply. "Should I keep living in fear whenever I leave home, fretting what would happen to him while I'm gone? How could I help him, meleth nín?"

Kíli pressed his lips together slightly, perplexity shading his expression. Legolas knew he shouldn't have expected solution from him, but talking was indeed helpful, and he couldn't stop himself. And, honestly, if he was about to open up to anyone completely, it was most certainly Kíli.

"Try and ask him, this is the best you can do," Kíli tilted his head, his words sounding more like questions than statements. "Uncle is the same, keeping his feelings to himself instead of sharing his burdens with those who love him."

Legolas sighed, feeling the slightest bit angry at himself for not being able to find a solution. It would be of no use, he wanted to say, remembering how he tried to do that countless times in the past already.

The moment was gone once strange steps broke the peace of the hall and, looking to the side, Legolas had seen Thorin Oakenshield approaching him. Bilbo was next to him, and, despite the complete loss of his eyesight, he moved around in a fashion that suggested that he felt entirely safe by the side of his King.

"Have I just heard you talking about me behind my back again, Kíli?"

Legolas found himself smiling at Thorin's words, or, more likely, at the desperate expression on Kíli's face, and the King laughed, stopping by their side. He looked up at Legolas with kindness in his eyes, something that Legolas couldn't quite get used to. He still remembered that moment when madness took over the Dwarf completely, when he was ready to attack even those he loved the most, but the Elf dismissed these bitter memories swiftly.

That was the part of a different tale, the tale of the past. What mattered was in front of him in that moment, opening and closing his mouth in the fashion of a fish, not quite knowing what to say. And Legolas grinned, a low chuckle escaping him as he was watching his beloved Dwarf looking for an explanation to save himself.

"Mark my words and save your breath, Kíli," Bilbo smiled, folding his arms in front of his chest. "Your uncle would never believe you, and he is a king now, anyway. One careless word and he will hold it against you for the rest of your life."

Thorin seemed downright shocked at the words and Kíli laughed loudly, his voice echoing through the halls.

"Had it been a little less insulting, I would pretend I hadn't heard it." Thorin couldn't hide the grin behind his false resentment, and Bilbo smiled at him with satisfaction.

"You can't tell me I lied, can you?"

"I'm so sorry about this," Kíli glanced at Legolas from the corner of his eye while the King and his Hobbit continued their playful banter, and the blond Elf just shook his head with a wide smile.

"It is actually oddly entertaining."

After a moment of pause, they laughed out loud in sync and, when Kíli took Legolas' hand in his, the Elf squeezed that small hand in return. For a moment, he was truly happy. For a moment, he could successfully forget about the woods where his father, the Elvenking was twisting and turning in his bed, yet another nightmare of burning trees and people dying torturing him until he was woken by his own screams.

He expected Legolas to rush into the room, to see if he was fine. He sat there in the bed, his own sweat blinding him, his heartbeat deafening him. He was waiting, only the silence embracing him and telling him to calm down. The shadows of the trees outside his room were playing tricks on his mind, these solitary, black shades on the wall planting the idea of being abandoned in his thoughts. He was sitting there, waiting until his spine started to ache, until he felt the ointment of Elrond losing its efficiency and his face melting down.

He lay back on the bed, curled up on his side and welcomed the ever present solitude - all over again. No one came to look for him that night.

No one he was aware of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRANSLATION:**  
>  ghivashel - treasure of all treasures (Khuzdul is one gorgeous language, don't deny it.)
> 
> The first four lines are from the song/poem, _A Elbereth Gilthoniel_ written by Professor Tolkien himself.
> 
> One more chapter is left and damn, I am so excited to see your reactions, guys! I can't wait to upload the last one, which is going to happen next week for sure! This chapter is pretty sad and depressing, but the next will compensate you, I promise! c:


	15. The Song Ends

_He had heard the screech of the bird-like creatures, coming down on them like hungry vultures, waiting for their prey to breathe their last gasp at last. They came down quickly, their claws digging into the flesh of the young and the innocent, and he had heard them screaming in pain. He had seen them bleed out in the dirt, and he grabbed the hilt of his sword and ran in to fight._

_He had battled on several fronts at the same time, waiting for the beasts to attack. He had known exactly that he wouldn't last for much longer like this, the ground spinning with him faster, faster than the wings of the Ringwraiths. The boy behind him, the one he protected, couldn't have been older than a hundred years, fighting in the army of the Wood-elves. He had barely come of age and now he was bruised, lying on the ground, dust and the blood of his own and his enemies dried on his face. With wide eyes, he had watched this warrior, watched him fall next to him, his chest ceasing to rise and fall anymore._

_He had heard the screech even in sweet unconsciousness, even when he came to breathe again, the smell of iron and death ever present in his nose._

_"He is not allowed to receive visitors."_

_The concerned words shook the warrior from his fever filled slumber, but his eyesight was clearing only slowly. Ironically, his first thought revolved around that boy, whether he had survived or not, whether this pain that numbed him had served that youth well and he managed to escape. These thoughts were soon dismissed, though, for the aching in his body was nearly unbearable. He was lying flat on his back, motionless, yet, feeling way too dizzy to digest any sort of information, and he took a deep breath. His lungs were sore and the air bruised him, his blood flowing rapidly in his veins the more he struggled for oxygen._

_He had been hurt severely before, he had known the kind of pain that even an Elven body would find difficult to heal on its own. Those times had been nothing, compared to this. He felt drained, empty and dry, like it was only his body on that table, his soul abandoning him already. Even blinking was painful and he felt tears filling his eyes, rolling down his bruised cheeks._

_He had fought Balrogs, he had seen the strongest Dragons and he had fought the foulest creatures of Arda. To be taken down by mere Men in this fashion, it filled him with shame and he breathed out, a quiet whimper leaving with the air through his lips._

_He pretended not to hear it._

_"I am sorry, Your Highness, but, if you insist upon staying, I must alert my King."_

_The same voice spoke again, the sound coming from farther than the warrior would've found plausible, and he frowned slightly, trying to shake his head. His muscles didn't want to obey and he had to force himself, he had to clear his messy thoughts and memories with his last remaining strength. He grew exhausted very quickly, but, at least, he saw properly now._

_He truly wished he didn't._

_Oropher was towering over him, studying him as if he was curious whether the warrior was already dead and, the moment the black haired Elf had recognised him, he wished he could just fall back into the loving embrace of darkness. There was a knowing smile on that face, as if he hadn't heard the healer behind him threatening him just a moment ago, and Azadeth felt his stomach curling up behind his belly in the most painful fashion imaginable._

_The healer girl, finding herself in quite a difficult position, was of the race of Men. She was troubled, not sure what she should do, how she was supposed to act in this situation. She was young and she was torn between two higher powers or, rather, three._

_The warrior let his glance slide past Oropher, finding the eyes of the helpless young lass. He tried to smile, but he soon found that he could not._

_It hurt._

_"Go to the High King and ask for him, but him and only him," the warrior muttered weakly, his words coming out hoarse. He raised his head but he couldn't keep it that way for too long - it fell back on the pillow and he fought for breath, watching the girl run out of the tent in a rush. The warrior felt bad for her, but it was soon gone once Oropher was blocking his view again._

_He hoped she would return soon._

_Oropher was smiling all the same, and it was disgusting. Wasn't he afraid of the High King? Wasn't he concerned what would befall upon him once Gil-galad had found him here? It seemed he was not. But, then again, was there anything Oropher was afraid of? He was the one who led the entire army against the Ringwraiths, after all._

_It should have been him, lying on every table where now innocent young soldiers were dying._

_"Azadeth, you are one remarkable Elf, my boy." Oropher's smile widened, his eyes almost wondering as he took in the bloodied, bruised and battered sight of the warrior in front of him. Azadeth was pressing his lips together, trying to control his rapid breaths through his nose, and he blinked to keep the sweat out of his eye. The fever was still battling him and he could barely do anything to stop it. All he was capable of was to stare back at him and endure. "Anyone else would have died a dire death from the fatal bite of the Ringwraiths. I assume it was not the first time you have encountered such fell beast."_

_Azadeth glared up at the King, trying to hold his tongue, even though he would've had quite a few things to say. The only thing why he kept himself silent was Thranduil, even though he knew that the prince wouldn't be able to restrain him for much longer either._

_"The boy you saved back on the battlefield," Oropher started, as if it was a completely natural conversation to have with someone who was nearly killed and was in agonizing pain. Azadeth wasn't even surprised anymore. "He received a hit on his head when he tried to pull your body to safety. He was seriously injured."_

_Azadeth felt stinging pain in his chest, which surprised him truly, given that he really doubted he could feel any more pain in any part of his body. It was a different kind of pain, however. It was more focused on his soul than on his body, and he swallowed hard, his throat dry._

_"Is he alive?"_

_"Oh yes," Oropher murmured, his voice completely casual, and Azadeth felt a relieved breath leaving his chest flat. "He is going to be a good warrior."_

_Azadeth almost snorted loudly, but he was too exhausted for that. Instead, he gave Oropher his worst death glare, and he wished he had enough strength to punch that smug smile off the king's face._

_"He is a child. He is not fit for a warrior, I doubt that you of all people couldn't see that."_

_Oropher's glance, if possible, was even colder than the warrior's, and he leaned over him again, tilting his head to the side gently._

_"If he doesn't want to die, he will have to be fit."_

_The look in those cold eyes was dangerously peaceful and Azadeth watched without a blink. He had an inkling of why the king had come to see him, and he knew that that part was yet to come. For, surely, it was not to talk about that boy._

_It was merely the prelude._

_"Now, I do believe we have only a few minutes left before the High King and his entire army arrives, so we should get to the point," Oropher smiled, his face near to cheerful, but, once he grabbed the front of Azadeth's tunic and jerked on it, pulling the warrior up from the table, his expression turned to wrathful and downright terrifying. Their faces were only inches apart as the King leaned in, and Azadeth let out a painful groan. He should have seen it coming, truly. "I regard myself as a very considerate father, so, for the sake of Thranduil, I will not kill you here and now, although, we both know it wouldn't take too long, given the state you are in. I don't think it would be fair to end you in such fashion, this is the second reason why I am not going to do it."_

_Azadeth wanted to laugh, just like he would've done on any other day, but all he could muster up was a bitter, sarcastic grin, and he tilted his head to the side. It hurt but he couldn't afford to care anymore._

_This moment was what he was waiting for, after all._

_"How thoughtful of you."_

_Oropher tugged at him again, but he was not smiling. He looked more like a maddened Man than an Elvenking that was supposed to act mighty and majestic, a Firstborn on the top of that. Azadeth couldn't find even the smallest ray of soberness in those wide, raging eyes, and he didn't defy him anymore. He hang limply in Oropher's hold, waiting for the king to continue. What chance did he have against the blond Elf anyway?_

_"Where do kinslayers go when they die, tell me now, Azadeth?" Oropher asked, his voice barely audible in the small space between their faces. Azadeth felt the lump in his throat growing bigger with every beat of his heart, but he didn't answer. He wouldn't have been able to, probably. "Will you end like your comrades, those who defied the Valar and abandoned Ilúvatar? You swore on his name and then betrayed your oath, after all, didn't you?"_

_Azadeth had never felt such disdain and hatred towards anyone in his entire life, but Oropher, he was truly an exception. Was loving Thranduil such a crime? Was it so painful to bear for the king? Was it so bothersome to see his son be truly happy? Azadeth wanted to ask all these questions, but he knew that he would get no answers that he would've wished to hear. Not from Oropher._

_"I want you to swear that you will leave my son alone," Oropher muttered, his voice low and words bare of emotions, save for the obsession that was ever burning on his tongue and in his eyes. "I want you to swear on Ilúvatar that you will not seek him out, you will not make yourself known to him, as long as he has the chance of happiness on his own."_

_Azadeth stared at the king, his heart beating rapidly in his throat. His head was aching with thousands upon thousands of memories and thoughts, his brain looking frantically for a way out, a chance to escape this hell that was waiting for him had he agreed to swear an oath... again. An oath he might not be able to keep, an oath that would seal his fate forever - and Thranduil's. What was he before Thranduil? He could barely remember. Would he be able to go back to those days? Would Thranduil be able to go back and accept that it was over?_

_He swallowed hard._

_"What if I don't want to swear?"_

_Oropher let out a short, disdainful chuckle and he furrowed his brows lightly._

_"Aren't you afraid of death, Azadeth? You are a sinner, and the Halls of Mandos are dark, the punishment of the Valar is severe and ruthless." Oropher gave Azadeth a cunning smile, and Azadeth felt like he was falling to pieces. There was no way out of this, not anymore. "Imagine how Thranduil would feel when I told him that you perished on the battlefield, the last image he would see of you is your bruised body lying on a-"_

_"I swear."_

_He would have loved to deny it, to tell that he was not afraid, but he was. He had dreamt about it, walking the Halls of Mandos until the end of times, never escaping the ghosts of his past that haunted him ever since. Next to Thranduil, these ghosts were gone. He could breathe freely, he could feel like he was alive. Dying was definitive, irreversible, and he was not ready. He didn't know if he would ever be ready, not until he had paid for his sins and known that he was absolved. Seeing how Fëanor ended, he promised to himself and to any god that would listen that he was ready to serve justice and walk the lands until he was justified. Until his sins were no more._

_He knew it was not fulfilled, this promise. And he was not ready to die - it was not the right time._

_Imagining the sight of Thranduil's heartbroken face was only supporting this decision and Azadeth shivered, his eyes falling closed heavily as Oropher released him. He wanted to imagine falling into the arms of the blond prince, being held against that broad chest and that heavily beating heart, with the prince's face buried in his neck. The warrior fell back onto the hard table instead, the pain radiated through his body and his soul alike, and he let his head roll to the side, his heart nearly breaking his ribs from beating so fast._

_The words just didn't seem to come, his brain shutting down and his heart not willing to serve him anymore. It had suffered so much already, and now, this little happiness was about to be taken from him._

_There was no choice for him now. He had to swear. And, with tears piercing his eyes, he did._

_"I swear on the name of The One, Eru Ilúvatar, that I will not make myself known to Thranduil, as long as he has even the smallest chance of happiness."_

_With that, the oath was complete, and Oropher removed the ring from Azadeth's hand, the ring that Thranduil put there with such care. It was cold afterwards as he kept staring up at the ceiling, and he didn't fight back when Oropher smote down on him, rendering him unconscious again. On a level, he was grateful even._

  
He had managed to live with this oath for three thousand years, fulfilling it with his remaining power. And now, he was walking out of the tall trees of the forest, down to the sea shore, his heart beating in his throat. There was a ship almost complete and, in a circle, two Elves and a Dwarf were sitting. The latter noticed him first, then the other two, and Azadeth stared at them with eyes wide and chest tight.

The blond with striking blue eyes and chiselled features stood and furrowed his brows slightly, taking after his father so obviously that it would have made Azadeth laugh on any other day. It was not that day, however, and he just smiled at the prince, stopping in a safe distance from him.

"Who are you?" he asked quietly, the salty wind of the east playing with his hair lightly. He had the desire that lured him to Valinor burning in his eyes, which he most certainly inherited from his mother and Azadeth cleared his throat, dropping his glance for a moment.

Who was he? Even he was not sure of that.

"An old friend," he raised his head again, a knowing half-smile lingering on his face, and the prince furrowed his brows yet again. "I might be able to answer your questions about your father, Prince Legolas."

And, in that moment, Azadeth had known that his exile had ended.

  
It was rare when the Sun was bright enough to shine through the worn trees of Mirkwood, warming anyone who had stayed outdoors long enough. It was a day such as that, spring reaching the Woodland Realm as well at last, and Legolas breathed in deeply. His hands slowed down as he was saddling his horse, a habit he picked up while staying in Gondor, often for long months in a row. He stopped for a moment and watched.

A forest coming back to life after a long illness had always been a miracle, especially in the eyes of the Elves. They had seen everything differently from Men, they could hear the trees breathe and the rain laugh. Now, the nature around Legolas seemed to talk to him again and he smiled up at the trees, leaning his head back to see the sky, no clouds stopping the Sun from shining brightly. Flowers bloomed next to the road and the gloom seemed to pull back, returning to the shadows where it belonged. Mirkwood was becoming Greenwood again, and Legolas felt eternal happiness dwelling in him.

It was almost painful to say goodbye, now that his home was recovering.

"Are you ready, mellon nín?"

Legolas turned to look at Tauriel, the girl smiling softly at him with her own belongings in her hands. She seemed cheerful as ever, and Legolas nodded.

"Nearly."

Tauriel's smile slightly widened and she turned, walking over to her own horse. They had both known what was still ahead of Legolas, and the prince sighed deeply. His happiness was not poisoned, not even now, but the pain in his chest couldn't be ignored and he bowed his head.

He already felt his father's glance on him. It was just a matter of time when Legolas would be finally ready to face him.

For the last time in who knows how many years to come.

_Iôn nín._

He almost shivered at the voice in his head and he finally mustered up enough willpower to turn, to look for the owner of this significant tone. Their gazes entwined immediately, and Thranduil gave him an encouraging nod, a smile playing on his face, somewhere hidden.

Ages. It had been ages since he was last called 'iôn nín' in such a gentle manner, and it touched Legolas' heart. Why did it have to be always the last moment? Why couldn't they ever go back to where they started from? These questions lingered in his mind as he walked up to his father, trying to keep his princely composure and move with confidence.

He stopped in front of Thranduil with a lot more uncertainty, however, and he breathed in nervously. Not even his father's calming smile could settle his rapidly beating heart, and he stood that glance with a face hard as steel, only to hide the sadness behind it. He was not entirely sure if even that mask was able to keep it hidden.

"Have you prepared everything thoroughly?" the Elvenking asked, his voice softer than ever before, something hiding in his voice that Legolas could not quite place. He nodded as a response, trying to solve that look on the king's face, without little to no success. All he had seen was complete exhaustion, Thranduil's skin pale and his eyes empty. They had lost their colour years ago, and Legolas couldn't help but wonder what could've possibly undergone inside the Elvenking if his appearance had changed so radically. He was wearing nothing but white robes for a while now, and, these were the first times ever since Legolas could remember when no mirrors were broken by the king in a really long while. He had also slept more than ever before and, even though he didn't stop drinking wine, he avoided people when he drank too much. He was silent, he was isolated and even more solitary than so far, and it gradually grew worse and worse with every day.

Thranduil had changed, and Legolas had known what these changes meant. He had seen it all before.

It was how Elves prepared for ending their lives, losing a bit of their hope, their grace, their lives every day.

There was only one reason why Legolas didn't fear for his father anymore, and that reason was lurking in the shadows of the halls right now, ready to step out to the light at last after so long. And, at the thought, Legolas immediately started smiling, straight into the face of his father.

"You will have to join us soon, father," he said, suddenly not being able to think of a different reason why he would smile like that. Thranduil seemed a bit surprised even now, but all he gave his son was a warm, fatherly smile, and he fixed his glance on the prince's chest. "What would I tell mother, otherwise?"

It was the first time in an unbelievably long while when Legolas had heard Thranduil laugh lowly, with utmost honesty, and he felt his chest fill with happiness at the sight.

 _You will laugh so much more from now on, ada,_ he thought to himself, never taking his eyes off Thranduil's face as he waited for a response.

"Your mother knows me too well to expect such things from me," the king looked up, something odd shining in his eyes that Legolas could only identify as sadness. Thranduil tried to hide it, though, and he didn't seem to realise that, the more he tried to cover it, the less he succeeded. Legolas didn't mention it. "It is her time to spend with you from now on, Legolas. Do not tell her I wasted mine. She would be unhappy to hear it."

For a moment, Legolas just stood and watched as his father's mask fell to pieces in front of his eyes, as his true self showed for a short moment. There were bare emotions underneath, emotions that, Legolas grew up thinking, the king would never be able to express. Now, the Elvenking was an open book, and Legolas swallowed hard, that sad smile on his father's face breaking his heart completely. He wanted to tell him that it was not his fault, that he was not himself, that he was not angry. He could not utter a word, however, and, before thinking twice about it, he found himself stepping closer and wrapping his arms around Thranduil.

And, after some hesitation, the Elvenking let himself sink in that embrace, melting into Legolas and holding his son close to him. The last time he had felt this close to his father, Legolas was merely a child, and he told him he would have to cry no more, that Legolas would do it for him so trees could grow freely from the ground.

It was a similiar promise, a promise of happiness and love. A promise that not all that the king once lost, was still lost. That life was worth living, especially his.

It felt as if Thranduil had understood him without words, and he held onto Legolas for who knows how long, as if it would've been physically painful to release him. The prince smiled into his father's shoulder, listening to Thranduil's heartbeat pounding against his own chest, and he breathed in the scent of wildflowers as if it was his last chance to do it.

It probably was - at least for a very long time to come.

"Take care of yourself, iôn nín," Thranduil whispered into his hair and Legolas smiled, closing his eyes for a second. He burnt this sound into his mind, he forced himself to remember this moment forever, and he held onto his father a little bit stronger before his hold lightened on those silky, white robes and he finally released Thranduil. The Elvenking kept his hands on both sides of Legolas' face, though, looking deep into his eyes with a half-hearted, broken smile that Legolas reciprocated.

"I will, ada," he answered, his voice barely a murmur in the small space between them, and Thranduil took a shaking breath, letting his forehead fall against his son's with his eyes closed.

For minutes, they lingered there. For minutes, Legolas had told himself over and over again that Thranduil would be fine, that it was the beginning of a new era, the end of sorrow. His touch ceased on his father's face at last, and then, he turned around and walked to his horse, sighing deeply.

The air was clean and, once he settled himself in the saddle, the birds began singing in the forest. He looked up at the sky again, then, he seeked his father's gaze for one last time with a loving smile. Behind him was the home he left behind, in his eyes he saw the father that he loved so much and he was also about to leave behind.

He bowed his head slightly and, once Thranduil had done the same, he turned his horse and rode to the front of his company.

Legolas looked ahead, enjoying the warmth of the Sun on his face.

Indeed, it was the end and the beginning at the same time. And he knew that there would be no other day like today, not ever in the future.

  
More than three thousand years it had been since Thranduil was touched by the darkness, it was longer than an entire age in the timeline of Arda. He had lost more than just himself on that day and, despite being such a long time ago, he remembered it clearly. He remembered everything he felt in those days, he remembered how people looked at him, how those he held dear spoke to him. They grew different as well, while Thranduil turned out to be indifferent instead.

Now, walking his empty halls with his head bowed, his eyes fixed on the smooth floor, he remembered all of it. His mind brought up the memories for him, he had seen them like an outsider would've seen them, and he closed his eyes for a moment, a silent sigh escaping his lips.

He was tired. He knew that Legolas had seen it as well, but his exhaustion was no way fully comprehensible for anyone but him. It felt like his bones were dry and empty, like his body was only a hollow shell for his cold soul to dwell in for a bit longer, like his heart had not been beating for centuries now. He was drained, even thinking and feeling was painful, and all he had known was that he wished to end it all.

And now, with Legolas being gone, he could do it. There was nothing to stop him.

So, he remembered one last time, pushing in the great doors of his throne hall, casting his gaze upon the throne in front of him. It was empty, but, then again, so was the entire room, all of the halls, most of the forest.

It was only him left in the end. He smiled weakly, letting the doors fall closed behind him. In the peace of the silence, the shadows of the columns, the smell of the fallen leaves, he found comfort, he found solitude. He stepped forward and he remembered.

The first ones to leave him were Galadriel and Celeborn, his two dearest friends. He remembered meeting them as a child for the first time, bathing with them in the fountains of Menegroth when he hadn't even come of age yet. The sweet times came up in his heart many times when the two left to rule on their own, but it was not Thranduil's first sour memory.

The first one that he loved and he had seen die in front of his eyes was Thingol. He had raised Thranduil as his own, being a guardian Thranduil could always turn to. Seeing his blood shed by Dwarves mad for treasure, his own craze for the jewels sealing his fate, had forever burnt into the memory of the prince. He was young back then and he locked away the image, he rarely talked about it to anyone. He had seen his father fade away with grief, though, grief that he couldn't prevent, grief that he couldn't ease.

The first parent to leave him was his father. He passed away in battle, as a true king would, leaving Thranduil with insoluble guilt for parting from him in such fashion. His last words towards him were dripping with grief, blind misery and fury, feelings that Thranduil couldn't forgive himself for ever since. Everyone told him it was not him speaking, it was not him acting, but he had known better. He might have been swallowed by the flames of Sauron, but he had known what he was doing.

Something he also couldn't forgive himself for was letting his mother go, Aerithil being the next leaving him for good. She did not die, though, and his heart was joyous for that - however, knowing that she was alive and well somewhere else without him, it was more painful than the thought of death. She had decided to sail before her time, although, she was sure she had stayed for longer than what was meant for her. She heard the call of the West and she followed her heart, leaving Thranduil when he needed her the most. He never said a word, though - he watched the ship sail until it was gone on the horizon, then, he put another lock on his heart.

Gil-galad had died not too long after Aerithil had left, and Thranduil could see the pattern. There was nothing for him to stay alive for, there was nothing and no one to hold onto anymore. His heart was betrayed, his love was not fulfilled, and there was no other chance but to embrace whatever fate was awaiting him. Thranduil had seen the pattern, and he closed his eyes. Gil-galad was celebrated in the Halls of Mandos, all of the West welcoming him with admiration and pride.

Legolas was given to Thranduil, only so Írwen could be taken from him. The last person who had known him before the losses and the sorrow, the last person who had loved him for who he was, who had known what to look for in him. She had blind faith in him and, next to her, he truly believed he would be able to overcome everything. She gave him the greatest gift one could ever be given, she gave him a son. A son who grew to be a fair Prince, fairer than Thranduil could ever be, making his father proud and keeping him alive for so long. He had so much to be thankful for, and he could say so little, he could love them back only when it was too late.

He closed his eyes, another sight tearing from his dry lips.

By the time he awakened from his thoughts, he was already standing in front of his throne, his arm automatically reaching out to touch it for one last time. It was a throne greater than his father's, decorated with antlers and leaves, looking exactly like he had first imagined. How many years he spent sitting in that throne, making decisions that, most of the time, weren't even righteous? How many times he thought that, if he would just burn it and leave, that would solve all of his problems? If his touch was really one to cast flames upon objects, he would have done it already. Now, he was too guilt-ridden and exhausted to even think about escaping. He had seen only one way out, and that was in an arm's length from him.

He took the first step on his throne and let his fingers slide across the wooden armrest, the dust remaining in a soft layer on his fingertips. He had not been sitting in it for a while now - weeks, months, he wouldn't have been able to tell. He had one last thought stirring in the back of his mind, one last face he couldn't quite forget, yet, he could not always recall every time. It terrified him, and he took another step.

The first one to fall in love with him was the first one to ruin him. He betrayed Thranduil, he played with him, he loved him selfishly and he died too soon. Thranduil could've lived on without his mother, he could've lived up to his father's expectations as a king, he swore on it night after night while shaking in his bed, wishing it could be only a nightmare. He swore he would do better, he swore he would change, if only the Valar could give him back what he lost. Day after day, he was waiting for the miracle, he was trying to prove that he could fulfill any oath that he took.

Day after day, he woke alone. Day after day, his prayers were ignored. Day after day, he changed directions and started to turn to darkness instead, letting himself get swallowed by the shadows that settled on the forest. His forest. And he didn't take care of it, he didn't take care of anything.

_You were born to live freely, without bonds, without expectations and responsibilities. Duties for you are like chains for a game or broken wings for a bird. You will eventually lose who you are and become someone else, someone you are not. It is a life full of misery, and you fear it more than anything._

_You were right as always,_ Thranduil thought to himself, his knees bending slightly as he sat in his chair for the last time, his robes loose around him on the throne. He still had his eyes closed, the last memories of happier times flashing before his eyes, and he looked up with a smile, taking a last look at his throne room.

He used to see ghosts when the poison of the darkness was tearing him apart, they were guests he did not invite. Those times were gone for decades now, however, and seeing one now was merely the cruel hoax of fate - it made his smile fade, nevertheless, and his fingers dug into the armrests of his throne.

The shadow stirred in the dark before stepping out into the light, long dark locks and black clothes, strength and majesty meeting in one tall body, one that was painfully familiar, and Thranduil stared. He stared as if he was having yet another nightmare, his heart pounding in his throat heavily.

The ghost was moving lightly, like one would move only in a dream, but, then again, he had always moved like this. Thranduil did not realise that his mouth was hanging open until he felt his throat going completely dry, yet, he could not move, not even an inch. He watched with wide eyes, a chest as tight as the head of a pin and the dark ghost approached him, stopping only when he was already close enough to the throne. There were only the stairs separating them now and he climbed them with care, making Thranduil's head move back until he was staring up, as if he was downright swallowed in those sea blue eyes.

No ghost had such eyes, yet, it could not be real. It could not possibly be real for, if it was, it meant that the Valar had heard him. His prayers were finally finding open ears, only some three thousand years late.

Thranduil swallowed hard, almost shaking in his seat as he took in the Elf in front of him with one long glance. His hair was magnificent, sweeping the lower part of his waist already, but, then again, the same beauty was radiating from his entire being. It was the image he thought he could never forget, yet, he did, and now his memories were flooding his mind again. He soon returned to study that face, a billion emotions sitting in the deep lines on that admiring expression, admiring and fearful at the same time.

"Hey," the mirage spoke to him on a voice barely audible and so beautifully fearful, and Thranduil's breath was caught in his lungs, his heart jumping into his throat.

It could not be real. It could not possibly be real. Miracles did not exist. Not so far in the East, not after so much pain and suffering. Not when he was ready to give up.

It could not be real.

As if he had heard the thoughts of the blond, the black haired Elf reached out one hand, the touch on Thranduil's face delicate and careful. His hand was warm and the blond trembled underneath the touch, leaning into it eventually, his hand coming up to hold it closer. His lips were touching that marble skin now, and a shaking smile was breaking through the surface of his scared expression, his brain slowly realising what was happening.

He looked up again, then, his hand was climbing up on the black clothes, never missing to touch anything on that arm until he reached the Elf's chest, grabbing the material frantically with trembling fingers. Something hot was covering his face as he rose from his seat and his heart was singing a song he had not heard in such a long time that he almost forgot about it completely.

It was only a matter of time until he finally found himself in the oh-so-familiar embrace of a lover long lost, of a friend dearest to his heart, of a brother he could never have. Their souls were melting together in perfect unison as, with chests pressed against each other, they breathed in the other's scent, burying their faces in the other's neck. Thranduil was grabbing a fistful of hair, one hand between locks and the other between two shoulderblades, holding onto the black clothes like he was afraid it would flow freely from the grip of his fingers. He could not tell when was the last time he was held with such care, in such a loving embrace, and he heard his own choked sobs echoing through the hall.

But, then again, it was not only his sobs. And, if it was possible, the embrace grew even tighter, lasting perhaps minutes, hours or days - Thranduil could not tell. He did not care.

When they pulled away only to look at each other, seeing Azadeth's tear covered face was making him smile. Then, they laughed out at the same time, a low chuckle of two blindfolded lovers. He cupped the warrior's face and held it with shaking hands, Azadeth's eyes closing in the hold and his lips curving up into a loving smile.

"If you ever leave me again," Thranduil started, his voice hoarse and tear filled, but he could not finish it. He probably didn't even mean to. He broke into a smile when he saw Azadeth leaning in, touching his lips to the blond's and he blinked his eyes closed, opening his mouth underneath the other's.

Somewhere far in the south, a blond Elf prince was ready to sail. Thranduil would never know how that prince stepped on board only to turn to the North one more time with a wide smile on his face, thinking of home. As if he had just felt his father's spirits returning from the world of the dead, he smiled and he took a deep breath, his hair dancing in the salty wind of the sea.

At last, Thranduil found his home. He was sure to make it a permanent one this time.

  
THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end I guess. I am so sad guys. I am so, so sad.
> 
> I came up with Azadeth's character, I built him from nothing, and I decided I can't part from him. I'm working on a different project right now, about my own story that I would love to publish this year, although I'm still in the preparation process, and I need time for that, a little break from writing. After this break, however, I will start uploading a series of oneshots about _Don't Go Where I Can't Follow_ and _King and Lionheart_ , which are going to be like little deleted scenes from the fics that I just couldn't keep for several reasons. (AND AZADETH WILL BE IN IT TOO OKAY GOD I'M EXCITED.) 
> 
> If you have any ideas, any requests that you didn't see in the fics and you would like to read about, I'm more than happy to take your ideas into account! c: So just write me a PM, a comment, or write to me on Tumblr: http://grinnerpace.co.vu/
> 
> After the oneshot series, I'm planning another Tolkien fic, this time a Thorin/Thranduil one, called **The 11th Hour**. It's another retelling of the Hobbit/LOTR storyline, in a bit of a different light. It's basically based upon my idea in which Thorin and Co. can't retake Erebor, Smaug stays in the mountain and Sauron eventually makes him his pet. They take a good lot of Middle-earth, they put their hands on the great Elven kingdoms, Gondor and Rohan, pushing everyone to the Western borders, to Ered Luin where Thorin and the Dwarves are dwelling. Thranduil gets injured and Thorin will have to look after him. Also, Thranduil is going to have a daughter besides Legolas, and I'm absolutely excited about that. 
> 
> You can watch the trailer I made for that fanfiction here: http://youtu.be/vllccS8pWyY
> 
> So, it was a massive year, with two 120k+ fics behind me, and I feel very proud. I think both stories are new, they managed to make me realise what my style is, they helped me develop my writing skills, and I'm grateful for that - both to Tolkien and to you, guys, all of you who have been reading these fics. This is a big moment for me, and I'm glad so many of you liked what I was doing for long months now. c: Thank you, thank you, thank you.
> 
> Also, I would like to thank Ivana for reading the chapters and pointing out my mistakes, I wouldn't have been able to do it without her and her amazing ideas. Big thanks to Tolkien Gateway and LOTR Wiki, they are gorgeous resources and I owe them a lot. I would like to thank Nicole and other people who were listening to my brainstorming about this story day and night, who gave me ideas and tips. I owe a lot of people, and I am eternally grateful.
> 
> Watch out for the oneshot series, guys! c: And thank you once again! Have a nice day!


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